


The Verb 'To Run' in Present Continuous Tense

by imadra_blue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angry Sex, Black Romance, Canon - Video Game, Complete, Dark Fantasy, Disturbing Themes, Drama, Gen, Hate Sex, M/M, Missing Scenes, Novella, POV Third Person Limited, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unrequited Fenris/Bethany, abuse recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:51:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadra_blue/pseuds/imadra_blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Fenris's story, told in missing scenes set throughout the Dragon Age II timeline.  Fenris ran away from slavery, but even after he settled in Kirkwall, he never really stopped.  He just ran in circles instead--circles ringed by mages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Readers: I owe endless fonts of gratitude to Marmolita, Emotionalmorphine, and Jehnt. All three of them put in a lot of effort and time over a very short period of time to help me edit this thing into coherence. All of them are fantastic and clever people. Any mistakes that remain are most assuredly my own.
> 
> Notes: Each scene begins with one of Fenris's quotes from Dragon Age II in an attempt to both locate the piece in the timeline, but also in its mood and topic. There are many references to Fenris's past as a slave, which includes references to his sexual abuse, though it remains at the level of allusion and implication. This is a story about an abuse survivor struggling to recover. Fenris's story is, by its very nature, dark and disturbing. If you are easily triggered by references to abuse or acting out trauma through sex, then this story is likely not for you, though you may rest assured all sexual acts depicted are consensual, even if dysfunctional.
> 
> Written For: [Dragon Age Reverse Bang 2014](http://dragonagebb.tumblr.com/). The art piece I wrote for was ["Run Boy Run," a Fenris FST](http://8tracks.com/satine86/run-boy-run) by [Satine86](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86). I recommend listening to it while you read. It's a wonderfully inspiring soundtrack, as I believe my word count might suggest.

...

> _"My master had returned and this, this fantasy life was over. But once it was done, I looked down at their bodies. I felt… I couldn't… I ran. And I never looked back."  
> _

Everyone was dead.

Fenris had done as Danarius commanded and slaughtered the entire clan of Fog Warriors. They had been the first people ever to treat Fenris as an equal. They had invited him to share their lives, their food, even their beds. And he had killed them all, because Danarius had commanded it. He had done so many things, even worse than this, because Danarius had commanded it. He stared at the corpses strewn about the field—at their glassy eyes, at their stilled chests, at their white-painted skin splattered with blood. Fenris's blood ran cold, and his hand trembled around the hilt of his blade.

Danarius still kneeled in the mud, his robes stained with blood and dirt. He held himself around the middle, where the leader of the Fog Warriors had nearly hewn him in half, but his foul blood magic had kept him alive when anyone else would have spilled their guts on their knees and died. Fenris approached, his sword still dripping blood from the last Fog Warrior he had slain. Danarius smiled up at him.

"You did well, my little wolf. Come, help me up. We need to leave this cursed place." Danarius held up his arm to Fenris, as he had so many times before.

"No," Fenris ground out, feeling sparks of anger suddenly lighting in his chest. Never before in his recollection had he felt anything even close to anger. He had never denied Danarius anything, but his burgeoning anger gave him the power of defiance. He didn't know if he was angrier at Danarius or himself, but he knew his anger mattered. It meant something. This shouldn't have happened. He shouldn't have obeyed. He should never have obeyed.

Danarius looked as if Fenris struck him. "Fenris…" He blinked, brows drawing together, his hand still outstretched. Fenris could have easily taken Danarius's life in that moment, chopped him into small bits and burned everything to ash. His blood magic wouldn't help him survive that. Fenris raised his sword to end his master, but he couldn't bring it down. He had no choice but to spare Danarius, just as he had no choice but to kill the Fog Warriors. Danarius never left him any choice. He had trained Fenris to play the part of an obedient dog, and the thought of biting his master left Fenris even colder than the sight of the Fog Warriors. His arms trembled; they still belonged to Danarius.

Fenris's legs proved more willing to defy his master, so Fenris turned and ran as fast as he could.

…

> _"I wasn't running from him. Not at first."  
> _

The hunter had not lasted long before Fenris cleaved him in two, but he had managed to grab Fenris's arm before falling. The man's grip had made Fenris want to scream, but he bit the inside of his cheek and ran through the streets, away from the hovel he had met him in. He had no time to spare for the pain. Over the last two years, his lyrium markings had begun to ache if touched. It was as if Fenris's body turned against him, aching for the only home, the only person he had ever really known, even though the memory of Danarius often left him retching. He didn't know if the pain was memory or real, but it hurt all the same. And it had only worsened since Fenris first escaped. The hunter's death grip had now turned Fenris's ache into a burn.

Fenris ducked down an alleyway, then another, and another. He lost track of where he was going, of where he had been. All he knew was that he could no longer hear the boots of the Tevinter hunters after him. Danarius must have wanted him back badly to send such forces after him. No, not after _him_ , Fenris realized. Danarius wanted his lyrium back, and he would likely do anything to reclaim it. Fenris had never meant anything to him, or at least no more than the vases he used to insist be filled with fresh flowers every morning.

Hearing only the sound of humans scraping about inside their dirty homes, Fenris crouched down behind a tailor's shop. His arm throbbed, though he hadn't been so much as scratched during his escape. He held his arm out, taking deep breaths, and studied it. He bore no sign of bruising or redness, despite the pain. No one could see his vulnerability. The burden was on Fenris to hide his weakness lest it be used against him.

"Are you all right?" a small boy asked. Fenris snapped his head up and studied the boy approaching him. He was an elf child, small and underfed, with a mop of blond hair. He stretched his hands out to Fenris, as if to touch him. "You have vallaslin. Are you Dalish?"

Fenris scrambled away. "Stay away!" He swiped his hand out to keep the boy from him.

The boy backed off, his face crumpling. "You're just like all the others." He turned and ran, leaving Fenris sitting in the garbage-strewn street alone.

The sound of boots thumping against the stone pavement drew Fenris to his feet. He didn't stay long enough to discover if those boots belonged to his hunters or not.

…

> _"I have never allowed anyone too close. When my markings were created, the pain was… extraordinary. And the memory lingers."  
> _

Knight Commander Meredith was famous for running Kirkwall, despite the presence of a Viscount. The idea of a templar in charge drew Fenris to Kirkwall's city gates. Outside of Tevinter, mages lacked the power and authority of the magisters. Templars did their jobs and kept them in line, locking them away in their Circles of Magi where they belonged, safe from everyone including themselves. Perhaps in a place ruled by templars, Fenris could sleep better at night. Maybe the presence of so many templars could drive the sound of Danarius's voice from his head.

As Fenris entered the city, he noticed a large number of human refugees corralled to the side of a building, many of them dressed in the simple fur-lined leathers of Fereldans. The Blight had been over for a year, yet none of them had returned home. Perhaps they no longer had homes or lacked the money to return. Fenris saw a familiar desperation in their eyes.

"Get back to the Alienage, elf!" one of the Fereldan men suddenly roared at him. Fenris instantly lost his sympathy for the lot of them. He turned the corner of the building, ignoring another man catcalling him, and nearly ran into yet another human. He backed away swiftly, sneezing at the sudden intrusion of feathers in his nose, and stared up at the human.

"Careful there, handsome," the man said. He had blond hair, nearly the color of gold, and a very large human nose. When he smiled, his brown eyes crinkled, and his wide lips had a sort of roguish quirk. His voice sounded gentle and unassuming, and his large hands seemed soft. Despite the very human stubble on his chin, his face was smooth and unmarked. Fenris thought him attractive until he noticed the man's clothing. He wore a long magister coat with a feathered mantle and leather looped through gold rings for fastenings. Fenris would know the style of that coat anywhere. The man's boots may have been decidedly Fereldan, but his coat was as Tevinter as Danarius. Fenris's attraction left him feeling dirty.

The man's brow furrowed. "Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost." he asked and gripped Fenris's shoulder.

Pain burst through his shoulder at the touch. "Stop touching me!" Fenris hissed. In his mind's eye, he saw Danarius reaching for him, wearing those same robes. Fenris violently jerked away as the city guard turned their attention on them. The blond man's eyes widened, and he darted down an alleyway without wasting any time. Fenris took the opposite alleyway.

When Fenris came to a stop near the docks, he crouched by a stack of wooden crates to catch his breath and distract himself from the pain. It was then that he realized the man who touched him had a staff strapped to his back.

The man was a mage. A mage had touched Fenris.

Nowhere was safe from them.

…

> _"Danarius wants to strip the flesh from my bones and has so many hunters I've lost count. And before that he kept me on a leash like a Qunari mage, a personal pet to mock Qunari custom."  
> _

The longer Fenris stared at the dwarf, the more nervous he seemed. "What was your name again?" Fenris asked.

"A-Anso." The dwarf cleared his throat. "I'm still new to the surface. I'm sorry, I'm not used to elves. Humans said they were small and weak. You're neither."

"Humans would say that." Fenris sniffed. To a human, Fenris would be seen as small, but to a dwarf, he would seem tall. But he wasn't weak, no matter what the perspective.

Danarius had set a trap for him, attempting to lure Fenris out with promises of his past, but Fenris would turn the trap on him. His chest had tightened at the rumors of Danarius's arrival, and though he didn't know if they were true, Fenris wouldn't breathe right until he faced him, until he forced himself to do what he should have done after killing the Fog Warriors—strike off Danarius's head.

Fenris leaned down into Anso's face, watching as Anso's large eyes widened even further and his fine black beard trembled. "Will you use your contact, then?"

"If your coin is good, then yes." Anso swallowed. "Athenril is an elf, too. A lady elf. She smuggles things. She knows people, they'll go find the goods you want from the Alienage. Maybe you would like to meet a lady elf? She's real pretty, like you."

"I have no interest in this Athenril. All I need are capable fighters to recover my goods from the address I gave you. That is all." Fenris dropped a handful of coins he had taken from the last hunters he killed. Anso grabbed them quickly, his fear apparently abated by the presence of gold. Fenris didn't know many dwarves, but he wondered if they were all as greedy as this one.

"I'll let her know. Give me three days. We can do it in Lowtown, at night."

"Very well." Fenris nodded and turned around to face the window. Anso took the hint and disappeared, leaving Fenris alone in the filthy ramshackle apartment he had been squatting in. He had only been in Kirkwall a couple of weeks, but he was already tired of the Alienage. There was little difference between it and the Slave Ward back in Minrathous. He had never lived in the Slave Ward, as Danarius had always kept him close—too close—but Fenris had gone there often enough to gather laborers and experiment subjects for him. The Alienage was just as filthy, just as over-crowded, just as cramped, and just as filled with starving elves forced to do brutal and humiliating work. These ones were paid, but paid with such a pittance that it was next to slavery. They labored away, day in, day out, to please their human oppressors. Fenris wondered if any of them understood they were free. He suspected not. 

With Danarius's shadow looming over Kirkwall, Fenris wondered if even _he_ understood he was free.

…

> _"The moment they are free, mages will make themselves magisters."  
> _

Fenris was mildly surprised that Hawke had invited him to accompany her to Sundermount. She seemed not to care that her mage companions could turn on her at any moment, but at least she opposed slavery and slavers. He owed her for helping him chase Danarius out of Kirkwall, and he would pay his debt, regardless of what company Hawke chose to keep. He needed her help. It had become painfully obvious he couldn't continue to evade his hunters alone.

At Hawke's home, Fenris found her sister Bethany loitering outside, toeing at the dirt with boots that might have been fashionable several years ago. Beside her stood the blond mage with the snide attitude and Tevinter magister coat. After a moment, Fenris recalled the mage's name was Anders. Fenris recognized him from when he first entered the city, but Anders gave no indication that he recalled their encounter. Fenris could tell he was a gifted healer, but like most mages, he was arrogant and drunk on his own power. Though his flawless skin and roguish smile made him irritatingly attractive, the sight of his coat, common garb for the magisters that had once commanded Fenris's life, left Fenris feeling as raw and angry as when they first met. Those robes could have been worn by Danarius just as easily. The only things that set Anders's dress apart were the ridiculous feathers sewn to his mantle.

Anders spoke to Bethany with some animation, but turned to Fenris when he approached. "Why are you here?" he demanded.

Bethany glanced over at Fenris. She seemed paler than she had the night Fenris met her, though she remained quite lovely. Unlike most mages Fenris had known, she seemed gentle of spirit. She smiled warily after a moment. "My sister invited him, Anders. Aveline is busy with the guard, and we could use a warrior with us. While my sister is quick with her knives, Fenris is strong."

"Tch." Anders sniffed, leaving Fenris imagining what he would look like with a broken nose. "If Hawke insists."

"Do you have a problem with me, mage?" Fenris asked, tilting his head back to sneer up at him.

"I have a problem with your hostile attitude towards all mages. I never enslaved you. Bethany never enslaved you. But you'd blame us as easily as you would the magisters that hunt you. Even though both of us are hunted, the same as you."

"Really?" Fenris asked. "You have magisters and their minions looking to capture you and rip the lyrium out of your flesh, too?"

"No, but we have templars looking to imprison us just because we're mages, though we've committed no crime."

Fenris stepped towards Anders and glared up at him. Not for the first time, he wished human men weren't so inclined to be tall. Anders took a step back, and his knuckles whitened around his staff. "Truly, mage?" Fenris asked. "Have you never committed a crime? Never at all?"

Anders's eyes narrowed, answering Fenris without words. This man was no innocent, though he certainly liked to play the victim. Bethany put a hand on Anders's elbow. Anders shrugged her off. "My name is Anders. Not 'mage'."

"I don't especially care about your name. Your kind enslaved me. Do not complain to me about being hunted down. We are not the same."

Bethany held out her open hands to Fenris. "No. We're not. We've all suffered, though. And we're all trying to survive."

"Well," Hawke said, exiting her uncle's hovel with her large mabari hound at her heel, "maybe I should have brought more knives to cut the tension with."

Anders turned to Hawke. "Are you sure you want to ally yourself with this spiteful elf?"

"How dare—" Fenris began, but Hawke held up a hand before he could seize Anders by the robes and shake him. She glanced between them.

"I came here on a leaky boat with what's left of my family. When I arrived, I had to pay for the privilege of living in filth with a year of my life," Hawke said, her dark eyes clear. "My father and sister spent their lives in hiding. I've lost my king, my home, even my own brother to darkspawn. My family lives in poverty, and there's a city filled with templars who'd love to take my sister from me. We're all a bit spiteful. I don't agree with you, Fenris, but I can understand your resentment. After what you've been through, Anders, I'm certain you can understand it as well. You two work out your differences on your own time. This is my time, my time to do what I can for my family. If you want to help, you're welcome to come along. If you don't, then get the hell out of my way."

A moment after Hawke and Bethany started walking down the badly paved street, Fenris followed. He avoided looking at Anders, who followed after him, blessedly silent for once.

…

> _"It's not my history. It's simply history."  
> _

Merrill hurried her step to catch up to Fenris as they walked away from the Dalish. "So you're Hawke's friend?" she asked, blinking her big eyes at him. Her face was marked in Dalish fashion. The Dalish seemed to take pride in these markings, but to Fenris, such markings were signs of slavery.

"I am in her debt," Fenris said, not bothering to disguise his irritation. The only thing he disliked more than a foolish Dalish tampering about in mud and playing with beasts was a blood mage. Merrill was both.

"I'm Hawke's friend, too."

"You just met her."

"Yes, that's true, but she's helping me."

"Because she was asked to."

"We all have to start somewhere, don't we?" Merrill frowned, her gaze raking over him. "You're not like the other city elves I've met before. Where are you from?"

"Tevinter." Fenris continued to walk, even though Merrill had stopped and covered her mouth in horror. She was a fool, but it hadn't taken her long to figure it out.

After a moment, Merrill caught up to him again. "You're—you're a—you're a slave!"

"I _was_ a slave," Fenris said. He walked faster, but Merrill kept up with him. Ahead, Hawke and Bethany walked along the rocky path. Occasionally, Bethany glanced back at them, her expression suggesting she overheard them. She was such an odd mage, always looking out for others. She reminded Fenris of a young kitchen elf in Tevinter who would take over the cooking when the chef's back acted up. On Danarius's orders, she would often apply balms to Fenris's skin. Danarius had made them, but never explained their purpose. Fenris hadn't minded. He had enjoyed the girl's touch. She had spread the balm gently, leaving him warm and wanting. Whenever Danarius had called Fenris to his bed, she had given him the same sad gaze that Bethany now did.

"I'm so—" Merrill whispered, but Fenris cut her off.

"Do not finish that sentence."

Merrill hung her head. "What they do to the elves in Tevinter is unforgivable."

"Yes, it is. As unforgivable as you wasting your freedom on demons."

When Fenris walked ahead again, Merrill stayed behind, her head still bowed. Bethany finally lowered her gaze as he passed her, just as the kitchen elf had whenever Fenris entered Danarius's room and shut the thick wooden door behind him.

Fenris couldn't remember the kitchen elf's name.

…

> _"Do you see yourself as harmless, then? An abomination who would never harm someone?"  
> _

Fenris stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Anders at the Hightown market. He immediately regretted leaving the mansion for breakfast. He should have just eaten stale bread. Anything was better than having to deal with the whiniest abomination in all Thedas so early in the morning. He turned to climb the stairs back into the residential area, but he was too late. He had been spotted.

"What are you doing here?" Anders asked, his tone already demanding. Mages with their demands, always feeling like they were entitled to whatever they pleased.

"I live here," Fenris said, turning on the stairs to glare down at Anders. Finding out Anders played host to a Fade spirit left Fenris even more disquieted around him. Justice or demon, a spirit was a spirit, and an abomination still abomination.

Anders held a basket of fruits, vegetables, bread, and a brown bag bulging with nuts. He had a look on his handsome face that made Fenris want to kick him. Which was all of his looks, to be fair. "I believe the term you want is 'squatting'. You are squatting in Hightown. You don't actually live here. If you did, all these high class humans would run you out as quick as they would any other elf."

"Unlike most elves, I carry a big sword."

"And that's why they allow you to squat here. The city guards are terrified of you. Though I think they're even more terrified of Aveline, who keeps them off your back."

Fenris shrugged. He couldn't care less, so long as no one told him he couldn't stay in the mansion. "In any case, it is obvious why I'm here. I am hungry. Why are you here? Darktown has markets."

"Have you ever been to a Darktown market?"

"No, of course not. Darktown is both rank and filthy."

"And now you've just answered your own question."

Fenris sniffed. "So why pick Hightown? Lowtown markets cannot be that bad."

"I've seen worse, but Hightown has the best tree nuts and medicinal ingredients. I have to pay a little extra here, but I'd rather pay for quality."

"You are rather uppity for a Darktown denizen."

"'Denizen' is a big word for a slave. Did your master teach you that?"

Fenris's hand slid around the hilt of his sword before he even knew what he was doing. "I am not a slave anymore," he hissed.

Anders sighed. "You're right. You're not. I'm sorry."

The apology left Fenris blinking in confusion. He dropped his hand to his side and studied Anders. What few words they had exchanged since they first met had always descended into arguments. Until now, neither of them had apologized. Fenris wasn't sure what to make of that.

"We met once before Hawke," Anders said after a moment. "Near Lirene's shop. Do you remember? You nearly ran into me, then looked like you'd seen a ghost."

"It was your robes."

"My robes?" Anders looked down. "They're nice, aren't they? I got them custom made from my old Tevinter robes."

"Yes, I can tell."

Anders looked back up with a frown. "Oh, right. You're Tevinter."

"Mm."

Anders sighed and took a couple of steps up the stairs to stand closer to Fenris. He smelled nice for someone who lived in a sewer, like sandalwood. Fenris's gaze drifted to Anders's white throat. For a moment, he could see himself kissing it, tasting the soft skin, listening to Anders moan. Then he imagined ghosting his lyrium-marked hand through Anders's throat and ripping it out. An abomination, even an atypical one, should be the last person Fenris would want.

"Look," Anders said, "I'm trying. Like each other or not, we seem to be traveling in the same social circle now. I'm not saying we should be friends—I think that's obviously out of the picture—but we can at least be civil."

"I am being civil. Your head is still attached to your neck, after all."

"So it's going to be like that?"

Fenris took a step down and leaned into Anders's face, relishing the height the stairs gave him. Anders didn't back down or look away. Fenris could have easily closed the distance between them with a kiss, and the thought only added venom to his next question. "Are you worried I'm going to tell the templars on you?"

"Well, are you?" Anders asked, his tone as frosty as his ice spells.

"No. You can have all the rope you need to hang yourself with, mage. It was your foolishness that has left you an abomination, and it will be your foolishness that will bring you to whatever fate you deserve. You are Hawke's friend, and I owe her for her help, so I will tolerate your presence. You need not worry I'm going to tattle to the templars."

Anders seemed to search Fenris's face. "So if I wasn't Hawke's friend, you'd turn me in?"

"No. It's not my job to hunt down mages. I'm no templar, and I'm fairly certain I have not seen any elves in their ranks for a reason. The only mages I have time to worry about are the ones hunting me down."

"So you're saying you don't lie awake at night thinking of me?" Anders sauntered past Fenris, brushing his arm against Fenris's, causing a brief flare of pain, then paused once he reached the top of the stairs. "That would be a real shame if you weren't such an insufferable prick."

Fenris blinked as Anders disappeared over the top of the steps. He spent the rest of the day wondering if Anders had meant to flirt with him or not.

…

> _"You might as well say, 'If they flew into the sky, they could live in the clouds.'"  
> _

Every time Hawke made her way out to Sundermount, she brought Fenris and Merrill with her. Fenris expected it was no coincidence. Merrill, after all, often still had business with her people. And Fenris was an elf. He imagined Hawke believed, like many well-meaning humans, that a natural kinship would spring up between all elves. It hadn't occurred to her that he hadn't returned to the Kirkwall Alienage for a reason. It reminded him too much of the home he was trying to forget. But the Dalish were as foreign to him as humans. They scrabbled in the dirt for relics of the past, lost in their petty histories, uncaring about the present. They weren't his people. His people wore collars and served magisters. His people believed it was the purpose of their existence to please their masters. And he couldn't help any of them. He could only save himself. He remembered the kind kitchen elf, and anger swelled through him.

"Fenris? Are you all right?" Merrill asked from the rock below.

Fenris glanced down, swallowing his anger. On the rock below his perch on the side of the mountain, Merrill and Bethany sat together, eating lunch. Further down, Hawke spoke to the Dalish craftsman about his wares. Fenris took a deep breath before answering. "I am fine."

"You don't look fine," Bethany said. "Maybe you should eat. I have extra sandwiches."

Fenris blinked at her. "I… could stand to eat, yes."

"Here." Bethany smiled and passed up two sandwiches wrapped in paper. "I made them myself. I forgot my sister hates ham. I hope you like it."

"Ham is fine." Fenris shoved one of the sandwiches into his mouth whole. He had never developed much in the way of food preferences. He had eaten what Danarius had eaten. The ham sandwich tasted good, far simpler than any fare Danarius would have eaten. Fenris decided he liked it. He studied Bethany as he worked on his second sandwich. Of all the mages he had ever met, she was the only one that could put him at ease.

Bethany continued to munch on her sandwich. "I used to make sandwiches for Carver. He loved ham the best. He ate them like you do, practically shoving the whole thing in his mouth, the big stupid doofus. When he was finished, he'd try to take my sandwiches, telling me I ate too slow." She stopped eating, now cradling her sandwich in her lap. She made a sniffling sound. "Oh, Carver."

Merrill reached out and touched Bethany's shoulder, but quickly withdrew when Bethany continued to sniffle. She glanced up at Fenris, blinking rapidly, seemingly helpless. Fenris imagined Merrill knew nothing of how to console humans. So he leaned down and snatched Bethany's sandwich from her hands and ate it.

Bethany looked up, unshed tears glittering in her eyes. After a moment, she started laughing. Merrill stared, her mouth slightly open. Fenris chuckled despite himself, finding Bethany's laughter infectious.

"But now I'm hungry," Bethany said through her fit of giggles, rubbing her stomach.

"That's what you get for eating too slow," Fenris said, thrusting his nose into the air with a small smile.

Bethany folded her empty hands in her lap and smiled up at him. "I'm glad you came, Fenris."

For the first time, so was he.

…

> _"The ritual that gave me my markings also stripped me of my memory. Whatever I was before may as well have never been. Perhaps if I knew, I might have felt differently."  
> _

It was pain that drove Fenris to Darktown. Everyone had their limits of tolerance, and he had finally reached his. Not even the fetid air could drive him away. Blood trickled down his side. He thought he had bandaged it well, but he thought wrong. He felt as if a mage had pressed a palm against his side and cast a fire spell. He pressed his own palm against the wound. His hand came away red.

Fenris knew two mages who could heal. Though he vastly preferred Bethany's company, he didn't want her to notice that he had, indeed, been injured while fighting the dragon in the Bone Pit. She worried a lot, and he didn't wish to add to her burdens. There would be a furrow between her brows when he arrived, and he disliked that furrow. The other mage, whatever his flaws, was a superior healer. And Fenris didn't care about his delicate sensibilities or any furrows in his brow. After all, any mage who had once been a Grey Warden couldn't afford to be squeamish.

Fenris stumbled past the lit lantern and into Anders's clinic. Inside, several Fereldans milled about. None paid Fenris any attention but for a little girl sitting beside a human man sleeping on a cot. She held the man's hand and blinked over at Fenris with big brown eyes.

"Fenris!" Anders walked out of the back room, wiping his wet hands off on a towel. "What do you want?"

Finding it difficult to stand unassisted, Fenris leaned against a wall, smearing red blood across the surface. "Don't make me ask, mage."

Anders's look of irritation shifted into one of concern. "You're bleeding."

"You're clever, for a mage."

Anders glanced around. Everyone in the room was now watching them curiously. He pulled Fenris up by the arm. Fenris barely felt any pain when touched. His bleeding wound commanded all his attention at the moment. "In the back. You'll scare the other patients," Anders said.

Fenris wanted to say something witty, but trying to stay upright as Anders dragged him to the back room of the clinic took all his concentration. His legs failed him just before he reached the door. Anders practically carried him to a large bed with clean white sheets. Incense burned in a bowl by the door, and the room smelled like sandalwood.

"It's lucky you're an elf, or I wouldn't be able to handle your weight," Anders said as he laid Fenris on the cool bed and started unbuckling his armor. Fenris's side burned so much that he didn't dwell on the intimate implications. He let Anders do as he pleased, grateful that Anders's brusqueness didn't make him rough. Anders swore after a moment. "Andraste's flaming knickers, you've a fever. Infection's set in. How the hell did you manage that?"

"It was the dragon," Fenris spat, gritting his teeth as Anders examined his open wound. Somehow, Anders's cool fingers sliding over his heated skin felt oddly erotic despite the pain—or perhaps because of it.

"Yes, I remember. But we went to the Bone Pit days ago." Anders paused and then peered into Fenris's face. "Wait, you let this fester for _five days_?"

Fenris tried to glare at him, but Anders pressed a cloth to his wound, setting a flash fire of pain coursing through his body. It took every ounce of Fenris's will not to scream.

"Look, we don't get along, fine, but Bethany was there, too. Why didn't you tell her? She might've been able to handle the wound when you were first injured, even if she's no healer." Anders examined the cloth, which was covered in blood and yellow pus. Fenris swallowed back the urge to vomit at the sight.

"Well?" Anders demanded, glaring down at Fenris.

Fenris glared back.

"Oh. You _like_ her, don't you? A mage. That _has_ to be killing you."

It took him a moment to form words. "I'm going to kill _you_ in a moment, mage," Fenris snarled.

"Go on, try." Anders waited. Fenris would have loved to sit up and grab him by his feathered scruff and shake him until the smug look on his face disappeared, but he doubted the Hero of Ferelden himself could manage such an impossible feat.

"That's what I thought. You lie there. I'm going to get you medicine. Then I'm going to heal the infection. Tomorrow, I'll take care of your wound. I'm going to need the night just to recover from curing your infection. It's a miracle you're not dead. Probably all that lyrium keeping you alive."

Anders moved away. Fenris curled up on the bed, clutching the sheets. He reached down to feel his wound, but before he could, he heard Anders cry out, "Don't touch it!" Fenris sighed and dropped his hand. Being at the mercy of an arrogant abomination wasn't his idea of a good time, but he didn't feel like dying yet. He still had too much unfinished business.

When Anders reappeared, he pushed Fenris's arm out of the way. "Lay still." He spread something cool and delightfully pain-free across Fenris's side with a soft cloth. Fenris gasped in surprise. Anders's touch was surprisingly gentle, as gentle as the kitchen elf's, though his tone was not. "Gets mauled by a dragon, doesn't tell anyone, limps away bleeding because Maker forbid the cute little mage notice he wasn't all powerful and invincible, and then stumbles down to Darktown to bleed all over my bed," Anders muttered.

"You put me on your bed?" Fenris asked, letting go of the white sheets instantly.

Anders held one hand to Fenris's head, as if to steady him, and buried his fingers in Fenris's hair. The touch left him hungering for more. Fenris could think of little else as infuriating as being in so much pain and still reacting to the slide of a mage's fingers through his hair. Anders held his other hand over Fenris's bleeding side. "Just shut up and lie still. This will take a while."

Once the glow began, Fenris lost track of where and when he was. Time blurred together, woven together with blue-white magic, and memories gleamed through the stitching. A woman combed his long hair, whispering that he was lucky to be so pretty because the magisters treated the pretty ones better. A redheaded elf girl twirled his hair around her small finger and asked him if he would win her freedom. A human man stroked Fenris's hair and asked what he would be willing to do for those sword lessons. Faceless human guards held him down, their fingers tangling in his long hair as Danarius etched lyrium into his skin. The kitchen elf ran her fingers through his hair, still smelling of her balms, and asked if he would let her into his bed the next time he was allowed to sleep alone. Danarius yanked him closer by the hair and slid his glowing hands up Fenris's chest to draw on the power of Fenris's lyrium markings. Then the stitching was sewn tight, and the blue-white glow began to fade.

When Fenris recovered his senses, he found himself lying on Anders's bed, tucked in with blankets and pillows. Anders was sleeping on a chair next to the bed, snoring loudly with his head tilted back. Fenris's side ached, but a clean bandage had been wound tight around his chest and the burn had eased. He could move again, albeit stiffly. When he sat up, he spent a long moment staring at Anders, transfixed by the spill of golden hair over Anders's face. As he watched Anders sleep, Fenris anchored himself in the present. That was the most he ever remembered of his past, and none of it made any sense. He reached up to touch his own hair, long since cut short, still feeling Anders's fingers pressed against his scalp.

Anders snorted and sat up, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth. He swallowed and studied Fenris. "Feeling any better?"

Fenris glanced down at the bed. It bore no signs of Fenris's blood, suggesting Anders had changed the sheets after curing the infection. "You did not have to put me on your bed."

"No. But other people come here, seeking healing and sometimes just refuge. You're strange-looking, and you glare at everyone. I won't have you scaring my other patients. Besides, I wasn't sure if someone was following you. You are a fugitive, after all."

Fenris sighed and tried to stand, but his side sent a stabbing pain of warning, so he sat back down. "When can you heal the wound?"

Anders yawned and stood. He had taken his Tevinter coat off, and the thin white tunic he wore hinted at unmarked skin and pink nipples. Fenris wondered if Anders's skin felt as smooth as it looked. His gaze drifted down, noting body hair through the tunic that darkened just above Anders's low-hanging trousers.

"Later," Anders said. "I'd like to get something to eat and check outside first. Just rest. While I'm gone, practice this for when I come back: 'Thank you, Anders! You're my hero! You just saved my life! I can't believe you're so generous and kind and handsome, too! I've been wrong all along, mages are brilliant! I will name my firstborn child after you!'"

Fenris stared at him.

Anders sighed and shrugged on his Tevinter coat, covering everything interesting about him. "I'd accept the first part in compromise."

"I am not ungrateful, but if you think I'm going to say any part of that nonsense you just spewed, perhaps you were actually possessed by the spirit of Stupidity. Or perhaps idiocy is simply one of your magical talents."

"Oh, you must be feeling better, you're already back to being a royal prick." Anders scowled and headed to the door. "I'll get you out of here soon enough, don't worry about that."

As Anders stepped through the door, Fenris spoke up in his best approximation of a simpering child, "Thank you, Anders. You saved my life."

Watching Anders trip over his Tevinter coat and onto the floor proved to be the highlight of Fenris's day.

…

> _"You have not been a slave. A slave does not dream of freedom or wonder at possibilities. You think only of your master's desires and what the next hour will bring. It did not occur to me that I could be anything else until I had a taste of it."  
> _

They weren't too far from the surface. Another day or so, Varric had said. Fenris was looking forward to leaving the Deep Roads behind. He found them oddly beautiful when not packed full of darkspawn and demons, but being away from the sun and fresh air left him disoriented. He felt cut off from everything that really mattered. Perhaps some part of his elven heritage craved to return to the surface—or perhaps he just hated being underground.

As soon as they found a pool of fresh water, Hawke stripped off all her clothing and made straight for it. She started washing by the small waterfall, heedless of the presence of three men. No doubt Isabela would have been proud of her. Fenris took a moment to recall he should likely be doing something other than watching a woman bathe. Varric had to prod Anders along. They all made their way further down to where the pool funneled into a wide stream and Hawke was no longer visible.

Fenris stripped his armor and underclothes off and sat on one of the submerged rocks. The water was cool, but not too cold, suggesting its source was on the surface, warmed by the sun. It ran over his skin, washing away weeks of grime and sweat. He watched Varric wash his waistcoat until Anders splashed by, wearing only his Tevinter coat. Fenris could not help but stare at Anders's white legs. It was as if Anders had avoided the sun all his life.

"I thought you'd be more shy," Anders said, eyeing Fenris.

"Shy?" Fenris raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're completely naked. I would've thought you'd want to hide those tattoos." Anders bent down to splash water on his face.

"Why? You already saw them. And I doubt Varric cares."

Varric laughed and wrung the water out of his waistcoat. "Well, I admit I wasn't that curious about the tattoos, but I can now officially say I've seen an elf naked. I've always wondered if elf men had cocks, too."

"So glad I could clear up the mystery." Fenris splashed water on his shoulders.

"And what makes you think I've seen your tattoos before?" Anders asked, looking irritated. "You've never stripped around me until now."

"When you were treating my injuries from the Bone Pit, I'm sure you saw them."

"It was only a gash in your side. You kept your pants on."

"But you peeked, did you not?"

Anders opened his mouth and closed it, confirming Fenris's suspicion. Varric continued to chuckle as he left his waistcoat out to dry and stripped down to sit in the water as well.

Once Anders returned to splashing in the water, Fenris watched him again. With only the coat on, Anders seemed thinner and lacked the defined muscles that many other human men boasted. His white skin seemed as smooth as Fenris imagined. It was all too easy to imagine running his fingers over Anders's warm skin, learning the curves and contours, how his human body hair felt. The vivid imagining made Fenris want to spit.

"Must you stare?" Anders asked, adjusting his coat.

"Are you going to take your coat off?" Fenris asked. "You will not get clean with all those feathers in the way. And there is no sunlight here to burn your delicate flesh, so it should be safe enough."

Varric laughed again. "Blondie hisses and his skin smokes whenever sunlight touches it."

"Maybe being an abomination has deformed him, so he hides those parts beneath his ridiculous coat," Fenris suggested, splashing water under his arms.

"I'm not deformed! Justice isn't some demon, and I'm not a blood mage," Anders snapped. He ripped off his coat and flung it to the side. He bore no signs of visible deformity and was actually well-shaped. His body hair started out light at the top and darkened towards his pubic area, where a thick penis of considerable size hung. His skin was as unmarked as Fenris had suspected, all but for the inside of his bared arms, which bore numerous thin scars. The scars looked as if someone had taken a small blade to them. The angle suggested Anders had done them himself. Fenris recognized such scars. Many slaves bore them, especially those who felt they had failed their masters in some way. Some masters had even encouraged the self-inflicted punishment.

"Happy now?" Anders demanded, his eyes narrowed. His entire body seemed to bristle like an offended cat. He held out his scarred arms. "Want to mock me for these, too? Like you don't have your own?"

Fenris looked down and continued to wash. "The difference is that my scars were never self-inflicted."

Varric had gone silent and looked away from both of them, but Anders continued to stare at Fenris. "I suppose that's the difference between a mage and a slave. Slaves aren't taught to hate themselves."

"No. All the mages who enslaved us were too busy trying to convince us to love them. Being taught to hate yourself presumes you have a self to hate." Fenris stood and let the cool water drip off of him. "Slaves are not taught to think of themselves as people."

"So you're telling me that it's better that mages think they're an offense to the Maker than the Maker not care about us at all?"

"I don't care what mages think. Not anymore. Hate yourselves all you want. Maybe it's the only thing stopping you all from using your powers to enslave everyone else."

Neither Anders nor Varric spoke to him again until after they reached the surface. That suited Fenris just fine. If they were offended, it meant he was enough of a person to them that he _could_ offend them.

Danarius had never once been offended by anything Fenris had said.

…

> _"Nobody asks for their fate."  
> _

The bright morning sun caused the Gallows to cast an impressive shadow across Kirkwall. Fenris stood in its shade by Varric and Aveline as they waited for Hawke to finish her business in the courtyard.

"But she's my sister," Hawke pleaded with the templar called Cullen. The templars had arrested Bethany while they were in the Deep Roads, and Hawke was deeply shaken. "Please let me see her."

"I'm sorry. Family is not allowed in." Cullen sighed and shook his head at all of them. "Right now, your sister needs to adjust to her new life and role as a Circle mage. You'll only distract her. Be grateful we spared you the legal ramifications and accept that your sister is safer with us than with you."

"You bastard." Hawke spun on her heel and marched out of the courtyard. Fenris, Aveline, and Varric followed at her heels, though Fenris glanced back once to stare at the statues of slaves wailing in agony. Hawke didn't speak until they reached the alleyway between Hightown and Lowtown where Isabela, Anders, and Merrill waited. Fear of the recent templar crackdown had caused both Anders and Merrill to draw their hoods up and leave their mage staffs elsewhere.

"Did they let you see her?" Anders asked, stepping forward and pulling his hood down. He seemed even paler than usual.

"No." Hawke swallowed. "They've locked her up and thrown away the key." Merrill put a comforting hand on Hawke's shoulder.

Isabela shook her head. "Bethany was no danger to anyone that didn't deserve it."

Fenris sighed. A part of him already missed Bethany and her gentle smile, but she was still a mage. "Maybe it's for the best."

Hawke glared at him. "The best? Templars taking my sister away from me is for the best?" she asked, her tone dangerous.

"She is in the Circle. It's a safe place for her. Maybe she will be happier this way."

Shaking, Hawke balled her fists. Isabela grabbed her when she moved in Fenris's direction. Fenris glanced around and saw that everyone seemed appalled. Even Aveline scowled at him, and she had once been married to a templar.

"A safe place?" Anders asked, sneering. "They make mages Tranquil for looking at templars crosswise, but you think that's safe for Bethany?"

"Bethany is not you. She does not try to incite templars into fits of rage."

"Listen, you—"

"Oh, stop making it all about you for once in your life, Anders," Aveline snapped. "And Fenris? Sit down and try to work that damn foot out of your mouth. Must be hard to eat with it in that deep." She turned to Hawke. "I know a couple of templars. I'll make sure they know Bethany's a good girl and to keep an eye out for her."

Hawke buried her face in her hands. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have left her alone. She said—she said—"

"Stop that," Isabela said, rubbing Hawke's shoulders. "It can't be helped."

"Bethany is a strong girl. She will be fine in there," Fenris said. Hawke looked up and considered him, the heat gone from her gaze, though she still scowled when he spoke.

Varric nodded. "The elf can be taught! And he's right. If anyone can do well there, it'll be our Sunshine. She'll have those templars eating out of her hand in no time."

"Ew," Anders said, wrinkling his nose.

"C'mon," Varric said, motioning at everyone to follow him. "I think we all need a drink. First round is on me at the Hanged Man."

Fenris watched as everyone followed Varric towards Lowtown. Hawke and Isabela walked arm-in-arm with Merrill close behind, nattering away about sending flowers to Bethany. Varric loped along just ahead of them, promising Hawke he would look into how to smuggle things into the Gallows. Aveline trailed just behind like a sheepdog herding them in the right direction. Only Anders and Fenris remained behind.

"I guess we're not the popular kids," Anders said with a sigh.

Fenris studied him, but didn't say anything. He disliked Anders, but he didn't hate him. Of all the other people in their little group, only he seemed to drive people away as skillfully as Fenris. The thought that they shared something in common proved disturbing. It set a precedent that Fenris didn't care for.

Anders glanced back in the direction of the Gallows. It loomed over the city, casting them all in its shadow. "Looks like things won't work out between you and Bethany, after all. She's locked up, and you're free. But that's how you like it, isn't it?"

"It was never going to work out. We have nothing in common." Fenris had known that almost instantly. Even setting aside that she was a mage—which wasn't all that difficult, to his surprise—there was nothing there for him. Bethany had looked at him with the same sadness the kitchen elf had, but without the desire. It was that redheaded archer in the Chantry that left her blushing, not Fenris. She was a pretty girl, a kind girl, and Fenris had nothing pretty or kind left in him. He had nothing to offer Bethany. Mage or not, she deserved better.

With a sigh, Anders drew his hood back up. "Let's go. They'll miss our arguments if we linger too long."

Fenris nodded and started loping down the alley. Far down the street, he could see Hawke and the others. "I will buy you the second drink, then."

"What? Why? Are you going to piss in my ale? Not that I'd notice the difference, being as how it's the Hanged Man."

"I still owe you for healing my wound."

"That's sweet, but you do know I can't get drunk anymore, right? Justice won't let me."

Fenris sighed and studied Anders's face beneath the hood. All he could see was Anders's mouth, which seemed soft and inviting when not paired with Anders's usual glare. "Then I will drink it for you," he said.

A smile slowly spread across Anders's wide lips. "You're such a prick."

Making a scornful noise, Fenris started walking after their companions. Anders followed him so closely that Fenris could smell sandalwood. He recalled lying in Anders's bed, Anders's fingers in his hair, the scent of sandalwood in his nose. The memory left him warm enough that he didn't even mind how close Anders was to him.

Once they escaped the reach of the Gallows' shadow, Anders fell into step beside him.

…

_CONTINUED IN ACT 2 == >_


	2. Act Two

...

> _"You would be kept safe from others as well as yourself, and they would be kept safe from you."  
> _

"And you're certain you don't know anything about this apostate living in Darktown?" Cullen demanded, his arms crossed. "The one from Ferelden?"

Fenris shrugged. He was half-tempted to draw Cullen a map right to Anders's door, but he was Hawke's friend and Fenris was no snitch. If Anders turned to blood magic, Fenris would deal with him personally. "I have met him once or twice, but I don't know where he lives. I try to avoid Darktown whenever possible. You do know what it reeks of down there, don't you?"

Cullen seemed suspicious, but he tossed the bag of coin at Fenris. "Fine. There's your pay. We thank you for helping us with that Tevinter slaver mage. He'd already killed two of our men."

Fenris bounced the coin in his palm. "Seems lighter than the bounty you offered."

"We had wanted him alive for questioning. I reduced the pay since you brought us only his headless corpse and left a bloody mess outside my office. What the hell did you even do with his head?"

Fenris wasn't going to let any slaver live. The monster had been corralling orphaned elf children into cages when Fenris had found him. Killing him had been the best part of Fenris's week so far. "I was not able to find it after it rolled away. I imagine it's behind one of the cages. Maybe."

"Wonderful, so there's a decapitated mage head rotting away in a warehouse somewhere." Cullen rubbed his temples. "I'm going to get angry letters about this, I just know it."

Fenris tucked the coinpurse into his belt. "Pity I was not paid enough to go looking for it."

"Yes, what a pity." Cullen showed Fenris to the door of his office. "If you ever find out where that Darktown apostate lives, do inform us."

Fenris walked out the moment Cullen held open the door. "You do not pay enough for me to wander about Darktown and get the address."

Outside, Bethany was busy scrubbing blood off the floor in front of Cullen's office. Fenris froze and stared. He hadn't seen her in three years. The templars had already taken away the Tevinter mage's body, so Bethany kneeled on the stone, scrubbing at the blood. She dipped her brush in a bucket of soapy water and glanced up. She blinked.

"Fenris!"

"Hello."

Fenris felt a large presence behind him. When he glanced back, he noticed Cullen standing right behind him. He was staring at Bethany, his face suddenly flushed.

"Oh, Bethany. They sent you." Cullen continued to watch her. Fenris knew how human men looked when they coveted something, and Cullen bore that exact same expression. After a moment, Cullen realized Fenris was glaring at him. He disappeared back inside his office and shut the door behind him.

Bethany sighed and went back to scrubbing the floor. "You made quite the mess, Fenris."

Fenris studied her. All things considered, she seemed in good health and her Circle robes flattered her. No doubt many templars found her attractive. Anders's horror stories of how templars would take advantage of mages under their care surfaced in Fenris's mind, though he had previously dismissed them as one of Anders's exaggerations or outright lies. "Does that templar bother you?"

"Oh, Ser Cullen?" Bethany glanced at the door. "He only stares. I can handle the staring. It's how he keeps requesting me to do menial tasks around him that irritates me. I'm not a servant, you know. I'm a teacher now."

Fenris smiled. "A teacher. So you are doing well."

"Well enough, I suppose. It's not perfect, but there are good things here. Like the children. I love the children." Bethany finished scrubbing and stood up.

"I am glad the children have you to guide them."

"Are you, really?" Bethany tilted her head to the side.

Fenris rubbed the back of his neck. "Whatever you think, Bethany, I'm truly glad you are doing well. Though I am sorry you had to clean my mess."

"It's all right. The Tranquil deserve a break every now and then. What about you, Fenris? Are you doing well?"

"Well enough, I suppose," Fenris shrugged, realizing he was using Bethany's own words. "I get by. I'm used to how things are now."

Bethany studied him for a long moment. "I know the feeling." She glanced at Cullen's office door, then started to walk away, bucket in hand. "Goodbye, Fenris. If you see her, tell my mother not to worry. Everything is fine, and I can take care of myself."

Fenris watched her go. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, that of all the mages he knew, she was the last one that belonged in the Gallows. It should have been Merrill or Anders, not her. She should have remained at her sister's side, enjoying her family's new wealthy lifestyle in Hightown. She should have been free to wear fancy dresses and be courted by human lords who could give her everything she wanted. But so long as he stood in the Gallows, Fenris could tell her none of that.

He could only walk away the same way he had come in.

…

> _"Perhaps it's the inane prodding."  
> _

Though he had little business with them when not with Hawke, Fenris made it a point to walk past the Qunari compound whenever he was in the docks. The guards bristled every time he peered through the gate at the Qunari inside, but never stopped him. Every now and then, one of the Qunari sentinels by the gate would recognize him and exchange a nod. That always left the guards particularly confused, which amused Fenris.

He sat on a neglected stack of crates and watched the ships come in and out. He pulled out a sandwich he had bought from a stall in Hightown. There was ham in it. He hesitated before eating it, thinking of Bethany, but then took a bite.

As if summoned by Fenris's teeth sinking into meat, Merrill suddenly appeared before him and started prattling without pausing for breath. "Oh, Fenris, hello. Fancy meeting you here. It's so nice to see a familiar face sometimes."

Fenris continued to eat his sandwich. He looked away from her. Most people would take the hint, but not Merrill. She sat down next to him and smoothed her green robes over her knees, as immune to social cues as ever. No wonder her clan had been so eager to be rid of her.

"I think Hawke and Isabela are sleeping together," she commented. Fenris started to choke on his food. Merrill stood and pounded on his back until he managed to cough up the offensive piece of ham.

"You should chew your food better!" Merrill cried. "At least thirty times, the Keeper always told me. I think twenty is okay, though. I can get by on about ten sometimes, but I wouldn't recommend it to amateurs."

For a brief moment, as Merrill rubbed his back, Fenris wished he had choked to death. He rolled his shoulders until Merrill stopped touching him. Over the last few years, Fenris had learned to accept his pain and hide it. In some ways, he almost welcomed it. There was a certain warmth that accompanied being touched that no pain could disguise. Now it hurt when he used his abilities, but Fenris could not afford to stop using those. He simply had to bear the pain, even though he didn't know why it hurt. The only person who could answer that question was Danarius, and Fenris would rather rip his throat out than interrogate him.

"Are you surprised?" Merrill asked, blinking her big green eyes at him. "Why are you so surprised? Isabela sleeps with everyone."

"But not with Hawke," Fenris gasped out. He fished his wineskin from his belt and took a long swig. Merrill continued to stare at him. With a sigh, he handed it to her. For dislodging the piece of ham, he supposed she earned some wine. But he would clean the mouthpiece thoroughly after she was done.

Merrill smiled and took a long drink of the wine. Despite always seeming such a fool, she handled her liquor well. Perhaps her exposure to Isabela had improved her constitution. "Well, they just started, but it sort of makes sense. They get on well, trading all that wit and flirting with almost everyone they meet. It was bound to happen."

Fenris sighed. Both Hawke and Isabela were attractive women and both had shown a passing interest in him. As usual, nothing had come of it other than flirting. No one really wanted damaged goods. He couldn't blame them, really. He wasn't even sure if he could have a normal relationship. The very idea of one seemed overwhelming. Nevertheless, he felt oddly slighted, though it had nothing to do with him.

"How do you think they do it?"

"Excuse me?"

Merrill passed him his wine flask back. "I don't know too much about how two women have sex yet. I lost the book about it that I stole from Anders somewhere in the market. Isabela only had a copy about two men, and it's very fascinating. But I do wonder how women manage it. If I ever try, I need to be prepared. Do you think they use vegetables? I heard some vegetables are useful for sex."

Fenris stared.

"I don't think Isabela likes vegetables, though. She always picks of them out of her stew like a wealthy human child. So likely not vegetables? What do you think?"

"You… do realize I'm not a woman, right?" Fenris couldn't be sure Merrill knew. After all, she had spent three years following Hawke and Isabela and hadn't figured out how women went about having sex. Assuming anything with Merrill was foolish.

"Yes, of course, but you do act like you know everything, so I thought I would ask. I mean, I've been with a couple of men, but it should be different with two women, yes? I did try to ask Anders about it, but he only demanded to know what I did with his book. Varric couldn't stop laughing when I asked. Aveline said she wasn't the person to ask. I'm not asking Sebastian anything. You're the only person I have left to ask. You're miserable and surly and it's obvious you don't like me, but you're honest."

Fenris continued to stare at Merrill. If it were any other woman, he would be sure they were having him on, but she seemed so earnest. If anyone had asked him three years ago if a Dalish blood mage would be requesting him to educate her about lesbian sex, he would have told them to stop huffing magic mushroom dust. "Why don't you just ask Isabela or Hawke?"

"Oh, that would be rude."

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I tell you, will you go away?"

"If you want me to."

"I want you to."

"Then, fine. You tell me, and I'll go back to buying a fish for my dinner."

Fenris sighed. "I'm no expert, but they use their fingers. Or their mouths."

"Oh. For what?"

This was swiftly becoming more embarrassing for Fenris than for Merrill. He felt his face heat a bit, and he shifted on the crates. She seemed completely immune to embarrassment, at least around him. He wondered if that was because he was another elf. After a moment, he gestured at Merrill's lap. "On that."

"My thighs?"

"What's between them."

"Creators, Fenris, it's called a vagina. You could've just said so."

Fenris considered tossing Merrill into the harbor, but he was fairly certain Hawke would be angry if he did. And he knew better than to anger her. "Look, you're asking me, and I'm telling you. Don't complain about how I tell you!"

"Fine, fine. Do you think it's like kissing when using a mouth on a vagina?"

"I—I suppose." Fenris was absolutely certain he shouldn't be having this conversation with Merrill and regretted agreeing to it. He looked around, but there was no one nearby for him to beg for help.

"What about tongues? Do you think tongues are appropriate?"

"They were usually encouraged in my own experiences."

"Oh, so you've had experiences with two women?"

Fenris rubbed his face. "Just one at a time, but I expect oral sex works the same no matter who performs it on a woman, so long as they have lips and a tongue." He tried not to think of the last time he had done it. It had been a pleasant experience with the kitchen elf, but it made him even more regretful that he couldn't recall the girl's name—and that he hadn't taken her with him. He wondered if she was even still alive.

"Good point! Thank you for telling me." Merrill hopped off her crate and glanced back at him. "It's kind of funny, I almost feel like I'm missing out on something. But I'm glad Hawke and Isabela found each other. I hope they'll be happy."

"Just because they're having sex doesn't mean they'll find happiness. One does not necessarily follow the other."

"Well, either one sounds nice to me right about now." Merrill eyed him. "You look like you could do with a dose of one or the other, yourself. Or, even better, both."

"Don't look at me for any of it, witch."

"Oh, don't worry, Fenris. I'd rather have it on with a vegetable than with someone as grumpy as you. Besides, I've already tried men. Now, excuse me, I'm going to go try out your suggestions!" Merrill headed off in the direction of Lowtown, apparently having forgotten about her fish.

"They weren't suggestions! I was only answering your fool questions! Merrill! Merrill, do you hear me, don't you dare tell anyone I gave you sex suggestions!" Fenris cried after her, but all that earned him was a reproving glare from a city guardsman walking by.

Some days, Fenris was certain the Maker was real and testing him.

…

> _"Some things must be worse than slavery."  
> _

Most days, Fenris found Isabela's crude sense of humor and obsession with sex a welcome distraction from the darker thoughts that crowded his mind. That day, however, she had pointed him right to the very things he wished to forget. He could still hear her asking him about his duties as a slave, asking if he had been oiled, if he had been within his master's reach. Fenris crouched down by the pool and splashed his face with cold water. If only he could wash away his thoughts so easily. The more Isabela had asked, the more his skin crawled at the memory of Danarius's touch. The memory was worse than any pain he had suffered.

As if to rub salt in Fenris's wounds, not but an hour after Isabela's questions, Anders had asked him if he had ever thought about killing himself. He wondered if Anders had overheard Isabela and wished to pursue the conversation to some sort of logical end. Either way, they proved how little they understood. Fenris had been an extension of Danarius, his bodyguard, his companion, his experiment, his _slave_. He hadn't been able to think of himself as otherwise until after he had escaped. That would have been the moment there was enough of him to consider killing, but it was also the first moment he tasted freedom.

Fenris splashed more water against his face and found that his hands trembled. He balled them into fists.

"All right, Fenris?" Hawke asked, leaning over the rocks to peer down at him. She had cut her dark hair short not too long after they had returned from the Deep Roads, as if to physically mark her sister's loss to the templars. The look suited her. Part of Fenris suddenly wished something had sparked between them, but he wouldn't interfere with her burgeoning romance with Isabela.

Fenris cleared his throat and stood. "Fine. Just wanted to wash my face."

"Right." Hawke leaned against the rocks. "Isabela and Anders hammered you pretty hard today. I spoke to Isabela about it. Didn't bother with Anders. You're as much a prick to him as he is to you, so I expect you're both even or will be soon enough."

Fenris swallowed and didn't answer. He couldn't form any words that seemed appropriate.

"Look, we don't agree much, Fenris, but I respect you. You're a strong man. Maybe even the strongest I know. To weather the things you've weathered—well, none of us will really ever understand what you went through. And that's a good thing. That means we're all free."

"Some more than others."

"True." Hawke sighed. "Well, we're out of the city now. That ought to keep their mouths shut for a little while. Let's get moving. I want to reach the Wounded Coast by midday."

Fenris nodded and followed her back to where the others waited. Isabela gave him a sheepish look and rubbed the back of her neck. It was hard to be angry at her. She wasn't malicious, just obsessed with sex. He nodded at her. However, Anders's expression was as cold as a Fereldan winter, so Fenris turned from him.

"And we're off," Hawke said. She led them down the path and, as it turned out, into a trap laid especially for Fenris by his former master's apprentice.

All around, a resoundingly bad day.

…

> _"What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?"  
> _

Anger still seeped through Fenris's veins, driving him towards Darktown. He couldn't smell the filth any longer; the lingering scent of elf blood from the Holding Caves still filled his nose. He barely even saw the people huddled by their small fires, wearing their filthy rags. He could only see Tevinter hunters around every corner, lying in wait for him under the cover of shadows. He couldn't hear people whisper about their daily lives. He only heard whispers of "slave" as he passed, all taunting him about a sister that may or may not exist. By the time he passed the lit lanterns and into Anders's clinic, he could taste his own rage in the back of his throat. It tasted like bile.

Anders was alone in his clinic, sitting at his desk, scribbling something onto parchment. When Fenris entered, he came to his feet with a scowl. "Let me guess, you're injured again and want me to heal you. Magic has its uses when you want it, doesn't it?"

"I'm not injured," Fenris spat, pacing around Anders, glaring at him.

Clearly, Fenris's presence unnerved Anders. The mage grabbed his staff and watched him carefully. He didn't have Hawke to protect him now, and he knew it. "Why are you here, then?" Anders demanded, his knuckles whitening around his staff.

Why? Fenris couldn't think clearly of why. Hatred ran though him roughshod. He wanted to kill Hadriana over and over again, but she was already dead and he felt no satisfaction from it. Nothing could erase what she had done to him, how she had tormented him, how she had used her status against him. He was angry, and he wanted to be angry at someone, but Hadriana was dead and Danarius safely tucked away in Tevinter. The closest he came was Anders, a human mage who seemed to think his kind were the persecuted ones. A mage who claimed to be possessed by the spirit of Justice, and Fenris's entire life had been nothing but an injustice.

Anders continued to question him. "What do you want? A fight? You want to kill me? Go ahead and try. I'll use every ounce of magic I know to defend myself. And if you win, then you'll have murdered an innocent man, just like the blood mages that murdered all those innocents in the Holding Caves today."

"Innocent?" Fenris sneered. "You are no innocent, mage. How many people did you murder to even get to Kirkwall? How many templars have you killed for committing the grievous crime of doing their jobs?" That last question left Anders seemingly stricken, and his grip on his staff loosened. Fenris slammed his hands on Anders's desk, scattering parchment and knocking the ink on its side, and leaned into Anders's space. "I know what a killer looks like, especially if that killer is a mage."

"At least I never gave someone my word I'd spare them and then killed them anyway. Killing people with a sword or your lyrium-powered abilities isn't any better than killing with magic. In fact, it's worse. Magic can at least be used to heal. Swords are only for killing."

"Healing? You mean like in this clinic?" Fenris stood up to spread his hands. "Who are you healing now? The Fereldans all went home or have settled into Kirkwall as its citizens. They don't need you anymore. Three years ago, this place was always busy. Now, it's empty. Nobody wants your magic now."

Now it was Anders's turn to slam his hands on his desk. The ink bottle rolled off the side and shattered on the floor. "What the hell do you know about it, you insufferable prick? You only see the bad about magic, but none of the good, unless it's convenient for you. You don't complain when I use my magic to help defeat the enemies we fight together. And you've never denied my healing or defensive magic, that's for damn sure. I'm not like those blood mages hunting you down!"

Fenris could bear no more of Anders's words. He grabbed him by his feathered scruff and slammed him back against a wall. He could feel the power of his lyrium markings swell through him, as well as the pain that accompanied it of late. He started to glow, but he hesitated at actually killing Anders. If killing Hadriana, his tormenter, had given him no satisfaction, how would killing Anders, who had done little more than argue with Fenris, make him feel?

Anders's eyes were wide, and his hand was still outstretched, but his staff had clattered to the floor by the desk, out of his reach. He glared furiously at Fenris. "So you're just going to kill me? Because I'm a mage? You're no better than the templars that make us Tranquil for no good reason, that kill us for the slightest infraction, that grab us and push us into storage closets when we're thirteen years old so they can do what they want with us." His voice broke at that, and the implications left Fenris cold. He let his power fade. Anders swallowed. "You think you had it bad being a slave? Maybe you did. But you're not the only person who ever suffered at the hands of someone who had power over them. Try to think past your own prejudices and open your eyes."

Fenris swallowed as well. He hadn't given much thought to how templars treated mages, thinking the templars justified in their extreme measures, but no mage deserved that. Never that. But that some templars abused their power didn't change how dangerous mages were, how they ruined everything they touched, how they in turn abused others. "I could say the same thing to you, mage. My homeland is filled with mages doing worse than any templar, and they're trying to do the same in Kirkwall. And you somehow think you're a victim in all this?" It bothered him when he couldn't help but compare Anders to Danarius, but it bothered him even more when he couldn't help but compare Anders to himself.

For a hot moment, something passed between them, inexplicable and unspoken. Fenris's maddening attraction to Anders flared again. He pressed Anders against the wall even harder, moving closer to him, as if propelled by the sudden heat, the sudden flash of desire that had arisen. He wondered if he had gone insane, his anger somehow twisting into a warped lust, desire pent up after years unspent, but then Anders kissed him, and he realized the feeling was at least mutual. Anders pressed his hands to Fenris's face and neck, leaving a trail of painful thrills at the touch, but his kiss was fierce. He ran his fingers through Fenris's hair and stroked Fenris's ears, leaving Fenris hard and wanting. Desire and anger twisted together in a spiral, indistinguishable in that moment, and Fenris pressed his entire body against Anders's.

Anders suddenly pushed back, and after a quick whirl of movement, Fenris found himself with his back against the wall, Anders's hands sliding over his entire body. It hurt, but the intensity of it made Fenris finally forget Hadriana and focus on the present. He wanted it to hurt. It felt right that it did, after all he had done, especially if it was to be with a mage. He gripped Anders's shoulders and kissed back, enjoying how Anders's stubble scratched against his face. Anders breathed heavily through the kiss, and Fenris could feel he was already hard against Fenris's thigh. Fenris gripped Anders's erection through his pants, enjoying the hiss Anders gave in response.

"Just remember I'm only doing this because you're hot," Anders whispered, tugging Fenris off the wall and towards his bedroom, somehow managing to do this without letting him go. "We need to get this armor off, it hurts."

Apparently Anders didn't care as much for pain as Fenris did. As they stumbled into the bedroom, Anders fumbled at the buckles to Fenris's armor. Fenris helped him undo them, and the moment the armor came off, Anders pushed him onto the bed and climbed over him. He peered into Fenris's face as he slid his hands along Fenris's bare skin, tracing the lyrium markings, leaving Fenris breathless with both pain and desire. Anders hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something.

"Shut up," Fenris growled, though Anders hadn't said anything yet. He reached up to rip off Anders's Tevinter coat. He tore off a few feathers and heard cloth rip as he yanked. It was with no small satisfaction that he tossed it to floor. Then he slid his hand into Anders's pants and gripped his cock. It felt hot against Fenris's palm and his fingers wrapped neatly around it. Anders fully hardened under his touch. When Fenris brushed his thumb against the soft tip, Anders made a small noise, his mouth opening and closing.

Anders tugged Fenris's smallclothes off with the same viciousness Fenris had shown his coat and wriggled free of Fenris's grip. He bent down and took the head of Fenris's cock into his mouth and sucked. Fenris groaned, his mind going delightfully numb. He never felt desire alone, never touched himself, never even wanted to. He needed another person to finally feel pleasure, to give the sensation validation. This pleasure finally outstripped the pain for a moment, but just for a moment, before recapturing him in its tangle with pain. Fenris half sat-up, propped up on his elbows, to watch Anders's head bob over his hips, long blond hair obscuring his face. The sight was satisfying, as if Fenris had won some sort of argument. He gasped as Anders dragged his tongue over the sides of his cock and then swirled it around the tip before sucking so hard that Fenris fell back on the bed, covering his own mouth lest it betray how much he enjoyed Anders paying tribute to his cock. Just as he felt his balls start to tighten, Anders stopped. Fenris gave a small moan of disappointment, despite his best attempts to remain silent, as Anders sat up and licked his lips. Anders's tongue running over his wide lips drew Fenris up to kiss him. Anders kissed back, his hands sliding painfully, pleasurably, over Fenris's bare back.

"I want to fuck you," Anders whispered between kisses, sliding his fingers through Fenris's hair again, making Fenris shiver.

"Why?" Fenris asked, running his hands along Anders's arms, his fingers trailing over the thin scars striping his forearms. It wasn't the request that bothered him. It was Anders's motivations that he found potentially threatening. "You think you win that way?"

Anders slid his lips to Fenris's ear and licked along the pointed edge, leaving Fenris shivering. "If we both come, then we both win, far as I'm concerned. You don't have to worry about bragging rights. Who's going to believe we're even doing this?"

Fenris pinched Anders's nipple. "Only if you have oil for it."

"Ow!" Anders grabbed Fenris's wrist and moved his hand away from his chest. He studied Fenris, moving his lips as if about to say something. Fenris wondered, wildly, if Anders were about to seize on Isabela's questions about him being oiled, and he tensed, digging his fingernails into Anders's forearms. Anders winced and then pulled away to fish a small vial from the crate by his bedside. He held it up, shaking it so Fenris could see it was oil. He relaxed after a moment, realizing Anders wasn't, for once, going to seize on his vulnerability.

Anders pushed him back on the bed again, and Fenris leaned back against the pillows, watching him warily. Anders's oil-coated fingers slid along the inside of his thigh, over his balls, before playfully teasing against Fenris's asshole. He watched Fenris the entire time, his gaze intent, heated. Fenris schooled his face so as to not give Anders the satisfaction of knowing how much he enjoyed this. But when Anders slid his fingers inside, Fenris couldn't help but hiss at the sudden intrusion. Anders gently stretched him with one hand while the other pressed against Fenris's lyrium-marked stomach. Fenris leaned his head back against Anders's pillows, the pain winding its way deeper and deeper, until Anders found his sweet spot, and pleasure shot up to the join the pain again. Fenris closed his eyes, finally relaxing.

"Does it hurt?" Anders whispered as he moved over Fenris again.

Fenris tilted his head up to kiss Anders again, forcing him silent with his tongue. He ran his hands down Anders's chest, admiring the smooth expanse of skin with the curious sprinkle of hair unique to human and dwarf men. For a human, he seemed so thin. Weak, even. Another lie of the mages. Anders's touch was strong—and hungry. As Fenris wrapped his thighs around Anders's waist, Anders entered him with a single fluid thrust. Fenris gasped at suddenly being filled, soon overwhelmed by the rhythmic motion of Anders's hips, the white-hot sensation of friction, the double-edged sword of touch. Closeness with another person, but one he couldn't trust. Pleasure every time Anders drove in at the right angle, but the pain of every touch laid upon his lyrium-etched flesh. Freedom to be with someone of his own choice and free will, but the restriction that there was no affection behind any of it. Fenris wanted to scream—it was too much—but he choked the sound back, not wanting Anders to hear. He wanted it all, pain and pleasure. It felt better than anything he had felt before it. It felt like something he chose to feel, rather than having feeling poured into him like an empty vessel waiting to be filled by whoever happened by.

Pressure and heat built inside of Fenris, growing with every one of Anders's thrusts. All he could hear was Anders grunting above him, pressing him back against the pillows, whispering his name over and over. Fenris gripped him by the shoulders, fingers digging into Anders's white flesh, and rocked up to bite Anders on the curve between his neck and shoulder. He bit hard enough to taste blood. Anders screamed and came hard, knocking Fenris against the wall, filling Fenris with his seed, his abdomen pressing, sliding, against Fenris's aching cock, and Fenris came a moment later, his entire body seizing. The shock of having such a powerful orgasm after years of having none left him senseless.

With a start, Fenris awoke, surprised that he had fallen asleep and apparently for some time. He had come harder than he ever recalled coming before. Anders slept beside him on his stomach, pressed against Fenris's side, his arm draped over Fenris's stomach, his blond head resting neatly on Fenris's shoulder. Fenris felt raw and overused, and whatever pleasure he had felt before had been wiped away, leaving behind the ache of having been touched too much. He looked down, expecting his entire body to be one red, angry bruise, but everything looked normal enough—except for dried come everywhere and the human sleeping beside him. Fenris worked himself away from Anders and rolled over to sit up. His gaze fell on Anders's discarded Tevinter coat, lying on the floor, and Fenris's hands trembled. Of all the people he could have chosen for this moment, he had picked a mage who dressed like his former master.

Anders lifted his head and blinked sleepily at Fenris. He frowned as Fenris started hunting for his armor. "You don't have to leave. I'm not kicking you out." He sounded odd, as if he were in pain, too.

Fenris fished his armor from the floor and started dressing. "I am kicking myself out."

"Did I hurt you?" Anders sat up, pulling the blankets over his lap, apparently suddenly possessed by a need for modesty. "I couldn't tell. Did you even enjoy it?"

Fenris paused for a moment, then slid his shoulder pieces into place. "The answer to both your questions is yes, and at the same time." He holstered his sword to his back and headed to the door of Anders's room. Anders was a healer. He might even know of something to ease Fenris's pain, but Fenris didn't want to ask. He wanted to wallow in the raw feeling he had. It belonged to him, and he deserved it.

"How? I wasn't that rough with you. You're the rough one."

"My lyrium markings are…" Fenris took a breath as he opened the door. "…painful when touched."

Anders blinked, and his expression changed to one of horror as the implications fell into place. "Then—then how could you bear it?"

"I don't know, mage. How do you bear being an abomination?" Fenris shrugged and walked through the door, violently shoving away the thought of why he had chosen to sleep with one.

By the time Fenris shut the door and took one last look inside, Anders had drawn his knees up and bowed his head.

…

> _"'I can control it.' Wasn't that what you said?"  
> _

Without Bethany, visits to Sundermount proved positively dreary. While Hawke was busy speaking to the Dalish, Fenris only had the option of speaking to either Merrill or Anders. He intended to speak to neither, but when he passed by the rock Anders stood on, Anders called out to him.

Fenris sighed. "What is it, mage?" He could think of at least twenty things he didn't want to discuss with Anders, and he was positive Anders was going to bring up at least one of them.

Anders glared down at him, his arms crossed, his hair ruffled by the wind. "You said I couldn't control Justice."

"Are you really going to debate that with me after you nearly killed that mage girl? She was your own kind. One would think that might open your eyes."

"And why should it even bother you if I killed her? She was a mage, like all the others."

Fenris sighed. Sometimes, he hated always being right. He glared up at Anders. "Believe it or not, I don't advocate murdering innocent people, mages or not."

"You certainly approved of Hawke sending her back to the Circle."

"Bethany will take care of her there. It's where she is safest."

"It's where she was threatened by a mad templar!"

"Who is dead. You killed him. Or, rather, Justice did. Right before he tried to kill the girl merely for calling him a demon." Fenris scoffed. "The way I see it, the only difference between Justice and a demon is Justice's self-righteousness. I stand by what I said. You can't control it. You have already shown that."

"You know what you can't control?" Anders gripped his own arms so tight that Fenris could see his Tevinter coat strain at the shoulders. "You can't control your anger, Fenris. If you could, you wouldn't have wound up in Darktown after you killed that magister. In my bed."

Fenris cricked his neck on both sides and rolled his shoulders, doing his best to swallow the flood of fresh anger welling up inside of him. It was clear Anders wanted to wind him up, and he wouldn't let Anders have what he wanted. "At least it's my anger, and mine alone, to control or not control. And it's been earned."

Anders jerked his head back. "Earned? You think my anger hasn't been earned?"

"Then how did that little mage girl earn your anger?"

Anders swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, before he responded. "And how have I earned yours? What have I ever done to you? You treat me like trash, but you still come to me. And come for me." His last statement made Fenris instantly regret letting Anders fuck him. He should have known Anders would use that against him somehow.

"You seem to think that makes you special," Fenris said in the coldest tone he had. "I've come for a number of mages. Some of them even worse abominations than you." As he said it, he knew his words exposed too much, baring more of his past to Anders than he wanted him to know, but he couldn't stop himself. The words lashed out of him, intended to cause hurt as much as they revealed hurt.

To Anders's credit, he said nothing as Fenris walked away.

…

> _"Yet I have made no deal with a demon to learn of my past. You had a life. You had a family. And you abandoned them to chase after ghosts. We are nothing alike. Don't even begin to think that we are."_

When Merrill turned to leave for the Alienage, her new Dalish tool clutched tightly in her small hands, Fenris followed her, leaving Hawke and Anders behind. Merrill noticed him after a moment, pausing at the steps to the Alienage, blinking at Fenris.

"You usually don't want anything to do with me."

"And I still don't. But Hawke made a mistake, giving you that thing." Fenris shook his head. "That mirror is dangerous. And it made you dangerous to your own people. One of them already died because of you. You're a fool if you think fixing it will make anything better."

Merrill pressed the blade to her chest protectively. "You're very good at giving people warnings, Fenris, but very bad at taking them. It must be so sad to be you, to have nothing left but a human who used to own you and now wants you dead. I try to remember that when you're mean to me."

"And what do you have, witch?" Fenris took a step towards her, but Merrill didn't back down. In some ways, blood mage or not, she seemed stronger than Anders, who flinched all too visibly. "Your clan is terrified of you. You are a monster to them, more frightening than that beast we fought in the caves. You said you used blood magic to cleanse the mirror shard of taint, but how can taint cleanse taint? Even your Keeper thinks that mirror is a threat, and yet you cling to it though it's already cost you dearly."

Merrill took a breath and looked away. "They'll appreciate the Eluvian when I'm finished. All of you will. It's a piece of our past. Your past, too, even though you don't want it." She turned back to study him, her expression solemn, but her eyes clear. "And you should want it, Fenris. Your past as a slave is nothing but pain and misery. But as an elf, it is grand, grander than any of us can imagine. Imagine finding something you can be proud of in the past."

Fenris shook his head. "Danarius's mother was an elf. You could tell just looking at his ears. Though she had been a slave until he emancipated her, he buried her beside his magister father and had the corpse of his father's human wife thrown out with the morning trash. Danarius was fascinated by elven history, too. He made use of a number of elven artifacts through blood magic. Many elves died or wished they had died when he experimented on them with those artifacts. There's our grand heritage in action."

Merrill looked close to tears, so Fenris pressed on, wondering why he even cared about her foolishness. It angered him that Merrill had once had so much; a clan, a family, a purpose, and she threw it all away on demons and meaningless trash. "Don't you see?" he asked, attempting a gentler tone. "The problem with the past is that it does not care about the present."

"Then why can't you let it go, Fenris? At least I'm trying to use the past for good, no matter if others don't believe in me. But you? You're just letting the past eat you alive." With that, Merrill turned on her heel and walked down the stairs, leaving Fenris alone at the top.

After a moment, Fenris headed towards Hightown, feeling oddly empty.

…

> _"Is there something you want, Anders?"  
> _

"To Hawke! To the Champion of Kirkwall!" Varric cried again. Everyone in the Hanged Man cheered, and Fenris took that as his cue to escape. He had drunk enough wine by then that his mind felt fuzzy. The world's edges had been softened. That was exactly how drunk Fenris liked to be—no more, no less.

Outside, the city was still in shambles from the Qunari's attack. Most of the fires had been put out, and the barricades finally opened. The dead had largely been recovered, except for the Qunari. The city of Kirkwall had been kept busy the last couple of days with their own dead and had not had a chance to dispose of the Qunari corpses yet. On the steps to Hightown, Fenris passed by one of the Qunari bodies, bloodied and covered in white ash. He thought of the Fog Warriors, painted white to blend with the mist, and how they had looked after he murdered them at Danarius's command. They didn't look all that different. Fenris wondered if he had killed this Qunari; he would never know now.

Fenris kneeled by the corpse and held a hand to the forehead, though it reeked of rot and decay. "Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun," he said, offering the Qunari Prayers for the Dead to the fallen warrior. He wasn't worthy enough to offer such prayers to the Fog Warriors, but he didn't think it would insult this Qunari who had never known him and might even have met him in battle.

When Fenris stood, he realized Anders was standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching him.

"What does it mean?" Anders asked, his brown eyes dark in the gloom. The city lanterns had gone out during the battle with the Qunari.

"Nothing I'd expect you to understand." Fenris turned away and headed towards the mansion. It was difficult to think of it as his, though it certainly no longer belonged to the magister who owned it. They had proven too cowardly to come and take it back, just as Danarius had. As he approached it, he realized Anders was following him.

Curious if Anders would continue pursuing him, Fenris darted inside the mansion. The place looked fit to rot away, its walls and floors and ceilings crumbling more and more each year. Fenris didn't especially care. It wasn't his home. It was merely the place where he stayed until Danarius finally came for him. Even now, Danarius still seemed to run his life.

Anders did not knock, but when Fenris looked out, he saw him standing there. Fenris opened the door and stood aside, waiting. After a moment, Anders walked in and looked around. "Nice place. Love the spiderwebs, especially."

Fenris closed the door and studied Anders. His coat had been torn and scorched along one side, he was missing feathers, and his hair had slipped from its ponytail. None of them had slept since the attack, but Anders seemed to wear his exhaustion more openly. "Compared to the sewer you live in, this should seem like Hawke's mansion, cleaned and polished daily by her grateful elf servant." He didn't bother to disguise the bitterness he still felt over Hawke hiring Orana. No amount of gold coin could unmake a slave. Orana lived to please and serve Hawke, just as she had Hadriana before her. She barely noticed the money she was paid.

"True, it at least smells better here. Less mold, too." Anders studied him intently. "But how does the bedroom look? Same state, same smell?"

"Bedroom?" Fenris raised an eyebrow. "You came here for that?"

Anders looked away. "Yes. I thought you might be in the same mood."

"What mood is that? Drunk? Sleep-deprived? Exhausted? Battered? Horny? Desperate?"

Anders shrugged. "I'll leave if you want."

"What exactly do you want from me, mage?"

Anders responded by pulling Fenris close and kissing him. Perhaps it was a sign of either Fenris's inebriation or exhaustion, but his usual instinctual response to push back anyone who touched him never arose. Anders kissed him messily, sloppily, perhaps even tenderly. Anders's wide lips were soft and tasted of cheap ale from the Hanged Man. Fenris closed his eyes and kissed back, his skin alight with pleasure-pain as Anders slid his fingers over Fenris's lyrium-laced neck and up into his hair. When Anders pulled back for a breath, Fenris felt disappointed.

"If you take me to your bedroom, I have something for you. I made it myself," Anders whispered, though they were completely alone.

Fenris took a step back. "I don't want gifts from you, mage."

"If it's any consolation, it's a somewhat selfish gift."

Though suspicious, Anders didn't seem as hostile as usual. Curious despite himself, Fenris headed towards the bedroom. When he glanced back, Anders followed. Once Fenris stepped into his bedroom, Anders paused at the door and looked around. It was the only place in the mansion that Fenris truly bothered keeping clean, though he didn't bother keeping it neat. Anders remained by the door, so Fenris tugged him in by the belt, pulling him close, but Anders stepped back and took a wide-mouthed blue glass jar from his coat. Fenris stared down at it, then up at Anders, raising a single eyebrow in unspoken question.

"I don't expect you to trust me enough to just put it on, but it's a balm. You said your lyrium tattoos hurt when touched." Anders unscrewed the top. "This should help with that. And then some." He held it up. Inside was a white cream, nothing like the clear green goo the kitchen elf had used, which had deadened all of Fenris's feeling for a brief time.

Fenris studied Anders. "Why would you bother with that?"

"I don't want to hurt you." Anders gave nothing away, his expression as neutral as Varric in the middle of an argument. "Magic can help and heal, you know."

"I know that."

"Sometimes I wonder." Anders dipped a finger into the jar and then, after a moment's hesitation, traced his fingers over Fenris's lyrium-marked throat. Fenris let him, wondering if this balm of his would work. The touch spread a slight tingle, but no pain. After a moment, it felt warm, pleasantly so.

"Does it work?" Anders whispered, leaning closer, his hand loosely around Fenris's neck, his thumb running over his markings. Fenris could easily imagine Anders squeezing his hand tight and choking him. When he glanced into Anders face, he thought he saw Anders imagine it, too. But the touch felt warm, at least, and for the first time since Fenris's escape from Danarius, someone touched him without causing him pain.

Anders withdrew. "If you take off your armor, I can try the balm on other places." He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Fenris looked away, but started unbuckling his armor. As he dropped it, piece by piece, onto the floor with dull thunks, Anders edged him back towards the bed. Anders stripped as he walked, his maddening Tevinter coat soon joining Fenris's armor on the floor. As he peeled off the rest, Fenris watched, admiring the way cloth slid over Anders's skin. Aside from his scarred arms, Anders's skin seemed unblemished, unmarked, still pristine, still his. Fenris envied it.

Anders dipped his fingers into the jar of balm and then ran them over Fenris's bared chest. Warm currents of pleasure passed through Fenris at the touch, and he didn't object when Anders pushed him back onto the bed. Though it burned where he fell on the bed, Anders quickly distracted him by sliding next to him and spreading more balm on his stomach.

"They're beautiful," Anders whispered, his fingers tracing the curls of lyrium over Fenris's abdomen, leaving only warmth behind.

"Have some etched into your flesh. If you survive that, let me know how beautiful you think they are," Fenris responded, but without his usual rancor. Anders's warm hands sliding over his hips made it hard to feel much irritation. The more Anders touched him, the more he wanted to be touched.

Anders leaned forward as he massaged the balm onto Fenris's arms. "Fair enough," he whispered, his expression almost sleepy, though his gaze was intent. Fenris returned the gaze, quiet with the realization of why people craved intimacy. Intimacy encircled him in the present, allowing him to leave the past behind for a moment.

The warmth of the balm grew over time, leaving Fenris more sensitive, but without the pain. Every touch, even the slightest brush of Anders against him, left him wanting more. When Anders bent down to slide his balm-covered hands over Fenris's legs, thumbs running firm circles over every inch of skin, it was hard to think clearly enough to do anything but lie there, supine, and soak up the warmth. It felt like the heat that built in one's abdomen before coming, but spread everywhere that the balm touched. He strangled a groan of pleasure when Anders kissed his stomach.

When Anders started to roll Fenris onto his stomach, Fenris grabbed Anders's wrist, suddenly uncomfortable with how drunk he had become with Anders's touch. "What are you getting out of this, mage?" he asked, struggling to keep his mind clear, to lift out of the pleasure radiating from every place Anders had touched.

"The look on your face." Anders smiled and bent down to kiss Fenris on the lips, but not gently. He tugged his wrist free and spread balm over Fenris's lyrium-marked chin with a thumb. "You seem to like my magic, after all." He pulled Fenris up, towards him, onto his thighs.

Fenris shivered when Anders's balm-covered hands slid over his back and shoulders, the warmth easing tension there he hadn't known existed. "Doesn't make you any less an abomination," he whispered, practically draped over Anders.

Anders kissed Fenris's balm-warmed throat, his hands working over Fenris's shoulders blades, fingers dipping over the contours. It felt so good Fenris was half-ready to come, and Anders hadn't even touched his cock once. He imagined this was what ecstasy actually felt like. "But then that means you like something an abomination has to give, doesn't it?" Anders asked.

"Is that why you're doing this? For that petty satisfaction? It doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't it?"

Before Fenris could retort, Anders spread the balm to Fenris's ass, cupping his cheeks, drawing him even closer onto his lap. He kissed Fenris again and nipped at his bottom lip. The small flash of pain somehow made Anders's warm hands feel even better as they slid along his flesh.

"I must admit, I expected you to be more aggressive in bed," Anders whispered, moving to brush his lips over Fenris's left ear. Like most humans, he seemed fascinated by elf ears. "But really, you're more like those cats who hiss and claw at anyone who comes close until you pick them up and pet them. Then they purr."

Fenris wriggled in irritation, and Anders hissed and clutched Fenris's ass. After a moment, Fenris realized it was because his thigh had brushed against Anders's erection. At least it wasn't only petty satisfaction that Anders got out of this. Fenris shifted his thigh again, roughly grinding against Anders's cock, and took his own petty satisfaction from the small moan wrested from Anders's mouth.

Anders dipped his fingers back into the nearly empty jar and then slid his fingers onto Fenris's ass again, sliding them between his cheeks, brushing against his opening. "Will you let me fuck you again?" he whispered into Fenris's ear, circling his finger over the sensitive flesh. The question thrilled Fenris, but too much. He resented wanting what Anders wanted. He shouldn't want him, and he was letting this go too far.

"Not this time, mage." Fenris shifted again until he pressed up against Anders's hips, his cock brushing against Anders's. This was the only way he could think to reassert control over the situation. He wasn't strong enough to refuse Anders's touch, especially with that damn addictive balm, but he could deny his request.

Anders grunted and gripped Fenris's hips. "I'll take what I can get," he whispered into Fenris's ear, oddly agreeable. He took more balm and reached between them to spread it over their cocks. Anders's fingers felt as if coated with a fire spell, if a fire spell could bring pleasure with it. Fenris hissed, surprised at its intensity. The balm seemed to sink into the pool of heat building low in his abdomen. He gripped Anders's back for balance, digging his fingernails into his smooth, unmarred flesh, and pushed Anders back against the lumpy feathered mattress of his bed. Anders grunted in surprise, but he smiled as he gripped Fenris's hips, urging him on.

When Fenris bent forward, rocking his hips against Anders's, he drank in the image of Anders lying there beneath him, golden hair pooling around his head, his eyes hooded, his pretty skin glistening with sweat. Fenris closed his eyes as their cocks slid against each other, balancing himself by gripping Anders's shoulder. Heat and pleasure stole Fenris's thoughts, each jerk of his hips bringing him a sharp spike of pleasure. It was strange how Anders being there, touching him, gave him an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. His thrusts grew frantic, and heat flooded his senses, tension building until he thought he might burst open. But it was not until Anders leaned up to kiss his chin that Fenris finally went completely rigid and came so hard that he thought he might empty his entire being onto his and Anders's stomach. His energy drained out of him with his come, and he felt boneless and weak as the echoes of his orgasm rippled through him. He opened his eyes and panted. "I can't…" he whispered, almost apologetically. Anders was a bastard, but he deserved to come.

Anders seemed to understand, and he grabbed Fenris about the shoulders and rolled him over onto the bed. He painfully ground his cock against Fenris's hip, his face flushed pink. Fenris stroked Anders's arms, fingers running over the thin scars, riding out Anders's rhythm-less thrusts, listening to his ragged breathing. He watched as Anders came with few erratic jerks of his hips, shuddering as if in pain. Anders's eyes fluttered closed, and he pulled Fenris to him, holding him close as his warm come spilled over their stomachs and chests, joining Fenris's. As Anders held him close, still breathing hard, Fenris noticed he had left red marks on Anders's shoulders. They would likely bruise the next day. Realizing he had left his mark on Anders gave Fenris another small thrill.

Even after rolling onto his side, Anders held Fenris close, arms wrapped tight. Fenris wasn't sure what to make of the gesture or of how Anders sleepily nuzzled his neck. It seemed dangerously affectionate, especially when Anders ran his fingers through Fenris's hair and whispered something Fenris couldn't understand into his ear. Fenris pulled back. Anders looked somewhere between debauched and childlike as he started to drift off, his chest rising and falling in a regular pattern. His gleaming skin seemed pink where Fenris had pressed against him, his shoulders marked red by Fenris's fingernails, his abdomen a mess of come and white balm—Fenris couldn't tell the difference between them. The jar lay on its side upon the bed, empty. Fenris glanced down and found his own body gleaming from sweat, come, and balm, but he didn't hurt. As much as he had been touched, all he had felt was ecstasy. There was no rawness, no ache, just a residual sort of glow. There was no pain to remind him that he had just let an abomination touch him, no ache to remind him Anders was a mage like the one who had enslaved him, no burn to remind him how dangerous Anders really was.

That thought chilled him. Fenris extracted himself from Anders's embrace, withdrawing as Anders stirred and reached for him. "I'm going to go wash you and your balm off of me, mage. You might as well clear out in the meantime." He stood and headed towards his bathing area in the corner of the room.

Anders said nothing as Fenris stepped behind the wooden panels he had drawn about his tub. Fenris could hear him dressing as water filled the tub. From the lack of splashing water, it sounded like Anders didn't make use of the bedside wash basin and would walk home covered in their come—an odd choice. By the time Fenris lowered himself into the hot water, Anders shuffled out.

Though Fenris felt no pain, even as the water washed off the balm, he still felt raw.

…

_CONTINUED IN ACT 3 = >_


	3. Act Three

...

> _"I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging. But I was wrong. Magic has tainted that, too. There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone."  
> _

Fenris had been a fool to chase after his sister Varania. She had betrayed him to Danarius, at once opening the door to his past and setting it on fire. Killing Danarius had failed to give him the satisfaction he craved, and meeting his sister failed to give him the family he had wanted. He would have given her everything he had to give, but she had only wanted what Danarius had. Fenris wasn't good enough for her. She had called him Leto, but that name meant little to him now. When she fled Kirkwall, she took Leto with her, leaving only Fenris behind. Nothing had changed. His past had died with Danarius, but he still had no future. He was trapped in the present.

Perhaps he deserved that.

Taking a deep breath, Fenris entered the Hanged Man. He gazed around, but the blood had been mopped up and the corpses removed, just as they always were after the various scrapes Hawke had gotten into over the years. Aveline had kept it quiet for him. When he asked, she promised the guard would burn the bodies and scatter the ashes at the compost pile. That was where Danarius deserved to be, with the rest of the garbage. Even so, Fenris felt hollow when staring at the place where he had killed Danarius. It felt like he had an empty gaping hole inside of him and his skin ached without even being touched. Without Danarius in his life, even in his remote capacity, Fenris had no one left who truly cared whether he lived or died. A part of him almost regretted killing Danarius, and that realization made him gasp for air as if he were drowning.

"All right, elf?" Varric said, walking up behind Fenris. He waited patiently while Fenris struggled to breathe regularly. When Fenris stood straight, his hands trembling, Varric looked away. "You know, I'm glad you didn't kill your sister."

Fenris stiffened and swallowed. "Why is that, dwarf? You killed your own brother for betraying you."

"Yeah. That's why I'm glad you didn't do it." Varric sighed and stared at the spot where Danarius had died. "You'll be glad, too. One day."

"Will I? It's not as if I've forgiven her."

"One day, that might change, too. 'One day' is a magical place where many things change, especially perspectives." Varric turned to him, his eyes sharp. "You're not as alone as you think you are. I daresay Aveline can stand you, in limited doses at least, and Donnic never objects to your company at the weekly diamondback games. Merrill doesn't seem to mind you as much as you mind her. You drive Hawke crazy, but she still counts on you. Sebastian keeps trying to convert you—I think that means he likes you. Isabela seems to like you well enough, and it might be for shallow reasons, but take what you can get. I think you're all right. And Anders may not be your friend, but that doesn't seem to stop him from sneaking to your mansion on a suspiciously regular basis to get laid, eh?"

Fenris narrowed his eyes. He had tried to keep that as secret as possible, but leave it Varric to find out his personal business. His balled his hands into fists, wondering what snide remark Varric would make next.

Varric held up his hands. "No judgment. I once had a thing going with a woman who hated me, too. But I do have to warn that it didn't end well, and I've the scars to prove it."

"Is all of this commentary meant to make me feel better?"

"Nah." Varric lowered his hands. "You don't want to feel better, do you? At least not yet. Good luck with finding 'yet', elf. It's somewhere around 'one day'."

Fenris watched Varric swagger off and then turned to leave, trying to avoid looking at the spot Danarius had died.

…

> _"Let's hope the sacrifice of someone who cared for you that much isn't wasted."  
> _

Fenris stormed past Hawke, soaked to the skin with elf blood. His body ached from the number of times he had used his powers to fight off enraged elves. Hawke shuffled along the Sundermount path, her eyes wide. Anders walked beside her, his head bowed. Both of them were just as bloody as Fenris. He was certain Hawke could have handled the situation better if she could only understand how to deal with elves, but he wasn't going to blame her for what was Merrill's fault. The Dalish clan would never have attacked them if it hadn't been for her utter stupidity.

Merrill staggered ahead of them, clutching her own shoulders, shaking like the halla in their pens, drenched in her people's blood. "They're dead, they're all dead, what have I done, they're dead," she rambled.

"Yes, they are, aren't they?" Fenris snarled as he approached her, leaving behind bloody footprints on the path. "And you killed them all with your foolishness!"

Merrill clasped her head. "No, no, no, don't say that!"

"Well, there's no one left to say it, because your clan, your _family_ is dead!" Fenris seized her by the shoulders and spun her around to face the direction of the Dalish camp, where they had just killed every elf that turned on them. Not a single one of them had been spared. They had all attacked Hawke, Merrill, Fenris, and Anders with a berserk fury. To save their own lives, Fenris and the others had fought their way through waves of elves determined to avenge their Keeper's death, uncaring that their Keeper had become an abomination to protect Merrill from the mirror.

Hawke blinked and focused on them. "Fenris, stop."

"No, I won't. Look, witch, look what your blood magic and your demons and your obsession with a long dead past has brought you." Fenris waved his arms back at the trail of blood and elven corpses. "I told you. I warned you. Everyone warned you. You had everything any slave ever wanted: freedom, family, love. And it's all dead now. You murdered them all."

As Merrill broke down into tears, he held out his bloodied arms to her. The sight of Dalish blood glistening on his armor left Fenris choking back bile. He had killed many people in his lifetime, as Danarius's slave and as a mercenary, but none had sickened him quite as much as killing his own people, a people rightfully wishing to avenge the death of their leader. He had killed them to protect his own skin, to protect Merrill's, and he could think of little that enraged him more. He had murdered free elves to protect a blood mage.

After a moment, Merrill stopped crying. She stared at Fenris, her face wet with blood and tears, and her large eyes dark and empty. "So I guess we've switched places. You found family and threw it away, and I'm the one with nothing."

"Don't you dare speak to me about family now, witch. You deserve to die for all the lives lost because of you."

"So why don't you kill me?" Merrill asked in a hollow voice. "I'm a monster. A blood mage. Everything you hate."

Fenris considered it for a moment, but he had so much elf blood already on him. He couldn't bear the thought of one more, not even a blood mage. "If I kill you now, then I've killed all those other elves for nothing. That's why."

He marched past her and towards Kirkwall, trying not to reflect on how much like Merrill he had become.

…

> _"Prove it to yourself. You're convincing no one else."  
> _

Anders wore black now.

At the weekly diamondback game Fenris had taken to holding in the mansion, Anders arrived in his new black coat. It resembled his old Tevinter coat, but it looked more funereal. Perhaps it was appropriate, given how the city seemed determined to set itself on fire at any moment. Kirkwall had recovered from the damage done to it by the Qunari invasion, but Fenris could see through the bandages. The templars had crushed the mage underground, but blood mages still seemed to lurk in every shadow of late. The templars' brutality was clearly no solution, but what other option did they have? Kirkwall was going mad, and there was no cure for madness. No cure for abomination, either, as Anders had revealed after his vague requests for Hawke's help in gathering potion ingredients and then distracting the Grand Cleric. Whatever he was up to, Fenris was sure it was no good, even if Anders didn't rant as much as he used to.

Anders seemed cold and reserved when dealt into the diamondback game. He didn't always come to the weekly games—Fenris had never properly invited him and he just showed up with everyone else that came. But today he came alone and didn't seem inclined to speak to anyone, not even Varric. Isabela leaned over to asked Fenris what Anders's problem was, but Fenris just shrugged in response. He resented that she asked him; he was certain it meant she knew about them. He wondered if Varric had told her or if she had figured it out for herself. Either way, he didn't care for her to know.

The game went as it usually did. Fenris lost badly. Donnic won the most coin, and Fenris had to wonder if Aveline would approve of her husband's gambled winnings. Donnic even looked sheepish when collecting his winnings from the loudly protesting Varric and Isabela. Fenris's only consolation was that, as usual, Anders lost worse than he had. Anders, however, didn't seem to care.

After everyone had slunk back to their homes, Anders lingered, as he often did when he wanted sex. Fenris grabbed one of the half-drunk bottles of wine that Isabela had left behind and carried it up to the bedroom, expecting Anders to follow.

"Nice outfit," Fenris commented once they reached the bedroom. He took a swig of wine and found it sour. Isabela did like her cheap liquor.

Anders set his jaw and studied Fenris.

Fenris sighed. He should be grateful Anders was remaining silent. When he did speak, almost everything he said enraged Fenris of late. He seemed to think of little beyond forcing others to acknowledge how the templars had lost their minds over the last three years. He continued to ignore how mages had also lost their minds and that blood magic and abomination seemed on the rise. Just about the only time Fenris could stand him was during sex, but that night, Anders stared at Fenris, wearing his new black coat, seemingly uninterested.

"Are you waiting for a signed invitation?" Fenris asked, and started unbuckling his armor.

Anders's expression remained fixed and solemn. "I didn't bring any balm. I ran out."

Fenris cricked his neck side to side. "It doesn't matter." The lack of balm would make it painful again, but he didn't care. Not now. Not with the memory of Danarius's death, Varania's betrayal, and the Dalish's slaughter all so close at hand. In fact, he realized he preferred it to hurt.

"Won't it hurt without the balm?"

Fenris shrugged and sat on his bed, naked. He stared up at Anders, wondering why he was dressed differently, why he was acting oddly. But he wouldn't ask, because Anders might mistake his questions for concern. And the rules of their engagements didn't allow for concern. It was just sex. Anders had confirmed that emphatically when pointing out they weren't friends over Danarius's corpse. Even recalling that statement stung, but Fenris still didn't know how to respond. He hadn't expected it to sting.

Anders caught his wrist and squeezed. The familiar burn started up again, and Fenris stared up at him. "You want me to hurt you?" Anders asked, sounding furious. "Do you want me to throw you back on the bed and fuck you until you bleed? Should I tie you to the bed, too? Whip you? Maybe you enjoy mages being cruel to you. Maybe you really just want to be a slave again."

Trembling, shaking with anger, Fenris stared up at Anders. The edge of truth to everything Anders said wounded him deeper than any sword, any dragon's claw. When Anders finally suggested he wanted to be a slave again, that odd sense of loss for Danarius turned into hot rage coursing through his veins. He dove at Anders. To say he meant to kill Anders implied he could even think. His fury was blind, unthinking. His lyrium glowed, but when he reached for Anders's throat, perhaps to rip it out, his powers somehow failed him and the glow snapped off. Anders grappled him, rolling with him on the floor, flesh against flesh.

Fenris had never been able to pinpoint how his rage could shift into lust so quickly, but it did again, and he pinned Anders to the floor, kissing him furiously, biting his lip, ripping off his new black coat to claw his fingers down Anders's bared chest. Anders returned the kisses just as fiercely as his hands traveled up Fenris's back, pressing against every lyrium marking as if to return the pain. Fenris hissed as the burn worked its way deeper, past his flesh, into his blood. When Anders reached up to yank Fenris by the hair and flip their positions, pinning Fenris to the floor, Fenris let him. He wanted it, and it hurt, like it was supposed to hurt when there was a mage on top of him, hands sliding over his lyrium-marked flesh, ready to fuck him. Fenris wasn't free. He would never be free. He didn't know how to be free. All he had known was Danarius and a sick part of him wanted that back just so he wouldn't be alone any longer. He couldn't let that remain. He had to burn it out, just as the lyrium burned when he was touched.

Anders slipped a hand around Fenris's throat, squeezing hard enough that Fenris had to gasp for air. "I hate you so much," he whispered. He fumbled at his coat and pulled out one of those vials of oil he always had on hand when he came to the mansion. As Anders worked on opening it, Fenris slid a hand between them and into Anders's pants. He wrapped his fingers around Anders's stiffened cock, running his thumb over the soft tip, gripping it as tightly as Anders gripped his neck, then tighter. Anders yelped and snatched Fenris's hand off his cock, then snaked his own hand down to Fenris's ass to plunge his oil-slick fingers inside of him. He stretched Fenris without mercy. Everywhere hurt, but Fenris was still hard and dripping. Unless Fenris threw him off, Anders could strangle him to death right there and that thought somehow gave him more satisfaction than ripping out Danarius's throat had.

When Anders spread his legs, Fenris used his thighs to draw him closer. Anders gripped Fenris's hips and shoved his cock inside Fenris as if he meant to tear him in two, still whispering how much he hated him. Fenris could make no noise beyond choking. Anders continued to tighten his grip on Fenris's throat, driving him against the cold stone floor with every violent thrust, hands and body pressing so tight against Fenris that his body seemed lit on fire almost as agonizing as when the lyrium had first been inscribed on his skin. He was certain he would bleed later; that suited him just fine. Anders's cock rammed against the sweet spot inside of him, his free hand now working Fenris's aching dick, sending sparks of pleasure to mingle with the pain. Fenris continued to choke, blackness chewing away at the edges of his vision, tension building in his balls, on the verge of coming.

Fenris dug his fingernails into Anders's shoulders and clawed his way down, feeling flesh rend under his purchase, marking Anders's smooth, pure skin, making sure Anders would bleed, too. Anders screamed and came so violently that his weight fell on his hand, nearly choking Fenris to death right there. His other hand continued to pump Fenris's cock, furiously, squeezing that, too. When Fenris came, agony-ecstasy flooding every sense he possessed, he blacked out—from the overload to his senses or the inability to breathe, he didn't know.

Some time passed with Fenris passed out on the floor, naked, covered in come. When he started awake, Anders sat nearby, his back to him. He had put his black coat back on, and he shook so hard that the feathers sewn to his shoulders trembled. Feeling empty and cold without Anders on top of him, Fenris watched him. He considered reaching out to him, but when he extended his hand, he couldn't help but withdraw it. There could be no comfort between them. Anders was poison, and Fenris was poisoned enough. If he comforted him, would it be the same as Anders putting a collar on his throat?

"That wasn't how I wanted the last time to be," Anders said, his voice strained, as if he had been crying.

Fenris took a deep breath, and his bruised throat ached from the effort. "Last time?" he croaked out.

"I ran out of balm on purpose. I thought you would refuse me without it." Anders sat up straight, the shaking gone. He wiped at his face. "I can't come back here. You don't have anything I want, and I don't want to give you what you want anymore."

Fenris furrowed his brows and watched Anders stand up, his back still to Fenris. Anders straightened his coat and started to walk out. Fenris felt he should say something, but he didn't know what. He found himself wanting Anders to stay. As many times as he had shouldered Anders away from him after sex, when Anders did the same it hurt him somewhere he couldn't explain, somewhere inside, around his gut. It felt like the hole inside of him grew. He wondered if Danarius's death had merely revealed that gaping maw, rather than caused it. Danarius had never once reached for him the way Anders had. And Danarius had certainly never cared if he felt pain or not. Fenris had never accepted Anders's affection, but its loss wounded him.

Anders paused by the door without looking back. "Why don't you go find a templar to fuck you from now on, Fenris? Knowing how they like to treat mages, I'm sure they'd love to play magister and slave with you."

After Anders left, Fenris curled upon the floor and lay there for the rest of the night, feeling more loss than rage for the first time he could remember.

…

> _"Maybe it is time to leave this hatred behind. It's poison, yet I continue to swallow it. There is no one left to blame. What I have done, I've done to myself."  
> _

Fenris didn't know what to do with such uncertainty. Even after escaping Danarius, everything had seemed so certain. He knew, one day, Danarius would come for him, and it would end. And it had, but it wasn't an ending. His past had fled him with Varania, leaving him only the empty present and the uncertain future. He didn't know how to transform uncertainty into something worth having. Perhaps that was why he had come to the Alienage to stare at the vhenadahl, the Tree of the People. His people. The huge vhenadahl reached up to the darkening sky, twisted, barely sprouting, but still colorfully decorated by the elves in the Alienage. Yet, nobody really knew what the vhenadahl meant anymore. Much like Fenris didn't know what anything meant anymore. 

"Did you come here to mock me again, like you did about my Keeper?" Merrill asked as she walked around the tree, sounding tired and hollow. The lit candles and colorful decorations left her looking paler than ever.

Fenris continued to study the vhenadahl. "No."

"I shattered the Eluvian, you know. There's nothing left."

"Good for you."

Merrill moved to sit by a root of the tree and looked up at him. Dark circles had been etched beneath her haunted eyes, but she still seemed so young. Fenris had never realized that before. "I just thought you would want to know that my Keeper's death, my clan's death, wasn't wasted. The Eluvian is destroyed and the demon dead. Just like my clan." She swallowed hard and stared down at her bare feet.

"Just like the man I once called 'master.'"

Silence hung between them for a long time, before Merill looked up. "I hope this won't make you angry, but I… I have to ask. Do you miss your master, Fenris? Did you ever miss him?"

Fenris closed his eyes. Anders had left him bruised and raw, and even though it had been three days since they last fucked, he could still feel his hands on his aching skin. His markings ached all the time now, even when not touched, as if mourning Anders's absence. As empty as Fenris felt without Anders lingering about, he realized that in a strange way Anders's cruel words had helped him see even more clearly than Hawke's had about his emotions. "Danarius? I—yes." He opened his eyes and studied Merrill. He saw no point in lying to her now. Danarius was dead, her clan was dead, and in death lay truth, a truth only another elf could understand. "Master or not, he was my home. For the longest time, he was all I knew, all that mattered to me. As much as I hated him, and as evil as he was, I can't erase that he is my past, part of who I am. Pretending otherwise only let him keep me in chains all these years. I have to acknowledge exactly how he enslaved me before I can be free."

"Are you really free now, Fenris?"

"Maybe. Freedom is something you have to learn. Only the future will tell how free I am. And what of you, Merrill?"

Merrill glanced up at the vhenadahl. "I was free, and then I chained myself to a fate that left my clan dead. I don't know about the future. I feel like the past has taken it from me."

"Perhaps it only took the certainty of it away. Certain futures are for slaves. You're free now. So your future is as uncertain as mine."

Merrill studied him again and then looked away. She wiped at her eyes. "Ma serannas, Fenris."

Fenris knew enough Elvish to know she had thanked him. He nodded and turned to leave. "Ir abelas," he said, and walked back up the stairs into Lowtown.

He hadn't lied; he was filled with sorrow for her loss.

…

> _"He wants to die. Kill him and be done with it."  
> _

Hawke had spared Anders. He had destroyed a Chantry filled with hundreds of innocent people, a Grand Cleric that had tried to keep the peace, and any hope of the mages in all Thedas living in that peace. The Kirkwall templars now assaulted the mages in their custody. Many had already died tonight, and many more would die. The streets of Kirkwall would flow with blood—and blood magic. But Hawke had spared Anders all the same.

Sebastian had left, vowing to return and destroy all of Kirkwall for letting Anders live. The Grand Cleric had been his only mother after his family was murdered. Now even more would die because of Anders. Hawke led them towards the Gallows, determined to protect Bethany and the other mages from the templars wishing to claim their heads for Anders's crime. 

Anders stumbled after the group, his brown eyes wide, his hands trembling. It was as if he had expected to die. And he should have. Justice may have acted that day, but it hadn't been served.

"Fenris…" Anders called.

When Fenris glanced back, Anders was reaching for him, but Fenris backed away. Shouting in the distance drew his attention. Hawke must have begun fighting templars further on. Fenris glanced back at Anders. For once, Fenris didn't see a dangerous mage, but a pale pathetic man trembling under his gaze. Fenris realized he had sought Anders out because he was something familiar. It wasn't Danarius that Anders reminded him of, but of himself. But Anders had lost his private battles. While Fenris had been clawing desperately, slowly, to drag himself out of the pit of hate he had lost himself in, Anders had flung himself headlong into it. Fenris suddenly realized Hawke hadn't spared Anders out of mercy. It would have been a mercy to kill him. This was punishment.

Anders worked his mouth silently before speaking. "You must hate me so much now." His voice shook.

"No, Anders," Fenris said, using his name. "I never hated you. How could I hate anyone so stupid?" He spat at Anders's feet. "Mages have enslaved elves for millennia in Tevinter, but the only justice you sought was to make mages and templars each so terrified of the other that they would murder each other? You chose poorly, _human_."

Fenris dashed away, leaving Anders standing in the street with a struck expression. When Fenris turned the corner, he joined Hawke in battling a group of templars attacking mages. Somehow, he was now defending the mages he had spent most of his life fearing. But it was his choice, freely made, even if he didn't know if it was the right one.

He comforted himself that his choices could never be as poor as Anders's.

…

> _"Here I am, about to defend these mages in hopeless battle. You lead me to strange places, Hawke."  
> _

The final hour was upon them. They waited inside the Gallows sanctum for the templars to finally break through. Fenris shifted on his feet and waited for the word that they were about to begin battle again. The mages milling about him whispered of hope and freedom, and he could not help but recall how slaves had once whispered of the same things. Mages were not like slaves, but freedom did mean something to Fenris. And helping people find their freedom, even mages, was something worth doing. 

As Hawke went to speak to Anders, Bethany approached Fenris. Her blue-green robes bore signs of their battle, torn along her right leg, stained with blood, burnt at the edges from her last fire spell. She clutched her staff and studied Fenris before speaking. "I admit I'm surprised you agreed to help defend us, Fenris. You were the last person I expected to see here. I thought Seb—" She cut herself off and looked away. She had always seemed charmed by Sebastian, the handsome prince with the silver tongue, but he had fled in rage over Hawke's decision to spare Anders. If he returned, it would be with an army at his back, and he would not care if Bethany got caught in the crossfire.

"I'm sorry," Fenris told her. And he was. He could understand her reaction. Even if he and Anders had not been friends, it was a definitive punch in the gut to find out the man he had been sleeping with for the past three years had just committed mass murder. He sighed as she continued to look away and decided to try to change the subject. "Your robes suit you. They're a lovely color, and they flatter you."

Bethany turned to stare at him, and then she smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "They're ruined, Fenris."

"Even so." Fenris glanced at Anders across the sanctum and then looked away before Anders could meet his gaze. "What will you do after this, Bethany?"

"You mean if we don't die? I don't know, really. Help my sister, I guess. Back to being chased by templars, and now they'll be ten times as vicious as before."

"Your sister will take good care of you," Fenris promised. He had often disagreed with Hawke, but he had always respected her and her devotion to her family.

Bethany smiled. "She told me about yours. Are you just going to let her go?"

"Varania betrayed me."

"Yes, but she's still your sister."

Fenris studied Bethany's face. She still wore her concern for others so openly. Now he stood with her, defending other mages at her side, and she still stood strong, the kindness of the kitchen elf in her eyes even now. She was proof that not every mage was as evil as Danarius or as weak as Anders. When he had been looking for his sister, he wondered if he had really been looking for a sister like Bethany. "I haven't decided what I'll do," he said. "I'm not really worried about it. We're outnumbered by the templars and if Sebastian does return with an army, we'll likely all die."

"That's the spirit. Keep that positive attitude up." Bethany shook her head. "You'll survive. You're a survivor."

Fenris shrugged.

"Find your sister, Fenris. Speak to her. I used to fight with my twin brother a lot. There are things I said to him that I wish I could take back, but I can't, because he's dead. I would give anything to have him back. Maybe the situation is different with your sister, but I think she might feel the same way."

"I think you think too highly of her."

"When you think highly of people, you'd be surprised how hard they might try to live up to that. When you think nothing of them, they have nothing to live up to." Bethany glanced around at the other mages. "That's why we're here, I suppose."

Fenris glanced back at Anders, who seemed to stare off in the distance at nothing in particular, his expression slack and his eyes dark. "You actually believe that?"

"Yes. I think we all need people to believe in us." Bethany glanced at Anders as well. "No one ever believed in Anders. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost."

Fenris glanced down. He still didn't know how to feel about what Anders had done or even Anders himself. He realized he never had, not even once. When he peeled away his mistrust and hatred of mages, all his feelings for Anders became white noise. He had tuned them out for so long that he couldn't discern what they were.

"Don't die alone, Fenris. And don't be alone when you don't have to be." Bethany leaned forward to kiss his cheek and then walked back towards her sister.

Fenris found his gaze drifting towards Anders again.

…

> _"Na via lerno Victoria. Only the living know victory."  
> _

Fenris was the first to leave after the templars had been defeated and the mages freed from the Gallows. As Hawke and Isabela tried to negotiate their places in the new world Anders had created, everyone had left. There was nothing for Fenris, nothing to keep him tethered to anyone, regardless of how he felt. Whatever glue had held them together had been washed away by Anders's actions. Fenris didn't feel right using the word "friendship" to describe his own relationships with anyone in his social circle. They were his allies, but none of them had stopped him from leaving or asked to come with him. He wasn't part of their lives.

Only Anders followed him when he left, at a distance. He wore a tattered black cloak with the hood drawn up, but Fenris recognized his staff, his gait, his very presence.

Fenris didn't pay attention to how long he traveled. Days went by as he headed down the road leading from the hills of the Free Marches and into the Vimmark Mountains, past Sundermount, and into the Wildervale. He knew better than anyone what lay to the north, but he didn't dwell on it. He let his feet take him where they willed, keeping his thoughts and feelings buried somewhere out of sight.

His skin ached more than ever, and Fenris wondered if his lyrium would ever stop hurting. He wondered if this meant his powers would fail him as they had when he had struck Anders the last time they had fucked. He wondered if Anders's balm could still keep the pain at bay as it had before. He eventually reflected it didn't matter. He would continue to bear the pain if he must. If the price of freedom was pain, then he would pay it. It was his pain, and no one could take it from him unless he allowed them to.

Anders continued to follow him, maintaining his distance the entire time. Eventually, Fenris felt ready to confront him. He found a spot on the rocky mountain trail to sit down, and he waited with his sword on his lap. After an hour, Anders shuffled by, the hood of his cloak pushed down. The wind set his blond hair fluttering. His eyes widened and he froze when he noticed Fenris off to the side, waiting for him.

"Why are you here, mage?" Fenris asked, drumming his fingers over the wide blade of his sword.

Anders studied him, his brown eyes seeming more liquid than usual. "Why are you here, Fenris?"

It took a moment to respond. Fenris had spent these past few days trying not to think of it. "I'm going to find my sister. I don't know where she went, but I'll try Tevinter first."

Anders stepped closer. "Will you go alone, then?"

Fenris took his sword in hand and stood. He studied Anders, but he looked the same as he ever did. "After all you've done, you think I'd let you come with me?"

"No." Anders hung his head. "I figured you'd give me the justice I deserved. So if you don't want me to come with you, then kill me, Fenris. Do what Hawke could not. Avenge all the dead in Kirkwall. Take my head like the abomination I am."

"Why do you come to me for this?" Anger finally sparked from the embers buried beneath the ash inside of him, and Fenris raised his sword into the air. "I am not your judge, your jury, or your executioner! Why do you come to me?"

Anders spoke quietly, though his head remained bowed. "Because I wanted to be the mage that would show you we weren't all bad. I wanted to prove to you that I was strong. I wanted to use my magic to heal all of your hurts. I wanted to be that mage so much, but I couldn't be. I'm not good or strong, and you saved yourself somehow. Maybe you're right that I picked the wrong injustice to fight for, but it's the injustice I know. But if I'm ever to right the injustices I've caused, I feel like I ought to go with you. I feel like it would be…" He trailed off for a moment and lifted his head to meet Fenris's gaze, before finishing. "…poetic justice."

Fenris stared at him. Twelve years ago, he had held a blade above Danarius in a similar fashion. He hadn't been able to kill him then. He hadn't been strong enough for that. But now, Anders, another mage, an abomination, a man who had caused the death of hundreds, stood before him, asking for the same thing Danarius had asked, for Fenris to go with him.

After a moment, Anders lowered himself to his knees, though he never broke his eye contact with Fenris. He lifted his chin, revealing his smooth white throat. He took in a breath. "I wanted you to love me, Fenris. I wanted to be worthy of that. But I'm not. So end it. If Hawke won't do it, then it should be you."

It occurred to Fenris that unlike Danarius, Anders wasn't asking for Fenris to come with him. He was asking to go with Fenris. And unlike Danarius, he had gone to his knees willingly. Anders had bared his throat and asked to die.

"You want to be punished for what you did," Fenris spat.

Anders grimaced. "It was so much worse than I imagined. I've started a war. Everything will change now, and I believe in that, but I don't know if I can live with it."

"Good. Uncertain futures mean freedom." Fenris lowered his blade. He didn't lower his blade because he couldn't kill Anders, but because he could and chose not to. He and Anders were as much alike as Varric had once said they were. They had both let anger and hatred seep inside of them and ruin their lives. Fenris sheathed his blade, studying Anders, the way his thinning blond hair ruffled in the wind, the way his skin still seemed so smooth. Fenris ran a thumb over Anders's cheek, then stepped back, surprised to find he still craved Anders's touch. He would choose not to kill Anders after all.

After a moment, Anders blinked, seeming to realize Fenris wasn't going to kill him. He blinked at Fenris and swallowed hard. "Does this mean I can come with you?" he whispered, touching his cheek where Fenris had just a moment ago.

"You're a free man, Anders. You decide," Fenris said, as he helped Anders to his feet.

.

_END._


End file.
